


Weight in Scales

by lofty



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, PoR/RD spoilers, Transformation, What-If, but who hasn't been spoiled at this point, don't read if you don't want The Truth About Soren just yet, it runs in the family doesn't it, soren's being dramatic again, what a surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lofty/pseuds/lofty
Summary: Dragonstones don't exist in Tellius. Laguz don't need stones in order to shift. Those born with the mark of beorc-laguz liaisons cannot transform, but what if the power contained in dragonstones had the potential to unchain the heritage coursing through their veins?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In other words: what if Soren learned all about his origins... BY TURNING INTO A DRAGON?! ie: the worst possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running with this based on the assumption that this particular iteration of Soren has experienced the events of Radiant Dawn, just like "Legendary Ike" has.

Soren was particular about his nook of the library much like he was any spot he staked as his temporary territory. He never curled up by the grand fireplace, a hotbed of hushed activity that lured readers casual and avid alike to its hospitable crackle. He selected his space with consideration to where the entrances were: nowhere near, to minimize interruptions. He eschewed plush sofas and chairs for a sturdy walnut table he could strew various books and quill notes on. Though he never appreciated it, he did find the atmosphere conducive to study, sun pooling in through the nearby stained glass window mottled in various greens and browns, reminiscent of the way light filters through the quivering boughs of trees.

Here he scrawled rough diagrams of some sample maps he had fought on, envisioning different configurations of the unit types and skills Ike currently faced trouble with. As a legendary hero, Kiran expressed interest in building a team around his Earth element, each member conferred with a blessing. Soren had been fortunate enough to occupy a highly sought-after slot, and he was currently ensuring that Kiran would not have any space to regret that decision. 

When consulted for a teammate that would play on his strengths, Soren sifted through his mnemonic database of available Heroes and vouched for Nowi as an excellent addition that would round them out, especially now that she had just inherited a useful skill that would help Ike activate Radiant Aether more often: Infantry Pulse. He was looking into ways to further enhance their team, as well as prepare for the practice session Ike had asked him for. They planned to convene with Nowi after dinner to see how she meshed with the dynamics of him, Ike, and Azura in her performing getup, all while confronting Ike’s difficulty handling obstacles like ploy skills and blue-class units with Guard— like Nowi. 

At first, he thought perhaps his thoughts of the manakete were so loud that he could hear her chipper voice echo in his brain. Reluctant to disengage with his flow of strategy, he furrowed his brow and scrawled deeper lines into the paper, channeling his focus into the parchment enough to blur out the excesses of his environment until it was just him and his notes. This worked well enough for a while, but she continued to grow louder and louder until her clarity could no longer be dismissed as hallucinatory.

“Soren!!”

He halted his ink trail, severed from his thought process. For a moment, he shut his eyes and emptied a quiet sigh to brace for her strong, energetic personality. “Nowi. This is not the place to be screaming my name. Do you know where we are?”

“Oh, hehe. Whoops!” She shuffled closer and leaned into his research area, redoing her greeting on a loud whisper. “Soren!”

“Better.” He rested his arm on the desk, dark sleeve draping over his work as he acknowledged her with a dart of his bold crimson eyes fixing upon her at last. Something about her felt… incomplete. “But in the future, I implore you to exercise a little more awareness next time you think to bother me while I look busy.”

The manakete pouted, straightening from her tilted posture away from Soren and crumpling her gloved hands into tight, impudent fists. “What if it’s important?” she challenged.

Soren quirked an eyebrow. “If it is?”

“Yeah!” She throws her arms out to encompass the empty space hovering between them. “Have you seen my pouch lying around anywhere? It’s the one I keep full of shiny rocks!”

Ah. The incompleteness. “You mean your dragonstones?”

She brightened up. “That’s it!” With a clap of her hands and a buckle of her body, she tacked on, “So you’ve seen it?” 

“...No.” 

If he had, he might have been able to _feel_ it before seeing it. As a magical item with enough potency to unleash a manakete’s true form, it made sense that the energies exerted some kind of pressure, like a magnet pulling on all the blood in his body. Soren found the sensation uncomfortable if not a little alarming, and as such, would rather not hang around too many manaketes at once (their collective hyperactivity notwithstanding). He offered it a final sweep of his recent memories, then drew the same conclusion twice for good measure. “I haven’t seen hide nor drawstring of it.” 

Nowi slumped dramatically. “Darn it! I was hoping you of all people would have a sharp eye for misplaced things!”

He turned in his chair a little more toward her, ignoring her disappointment in his anticipated ability to magically divine the items other people carelessly lose. “Well, where did you last have it?” 

Like a scolded child, she averted her gaze to the side and fidgeted in place, fingers locked behind her back. “I must have dropped it… Oh! I got distracted! I saw a really cute squirrel in the window, and I wanted to catch it! So I chaaaaarged!” She shot her arms out to imitate her motion. “...Then I probably dropped it.”

For being over a thousand years old, Nowi really didn’t even try to act like it. Tellius never had manaketes, but laguz were a similar race insofar as they could shift from beast forms to human, especially where the Dragon Tribe was concerned. Dragons were renowned for their longevity. Prince Kurthnaga’s youthful demeanor belied the fact that he was over a hundred years old. Still, none of them comported themselves quite like this girl here, who Soren was forced to treat like a child.

“Are you sure you’re a dragon, and not a cat?” he quipped, giving her a look of sober disbelief.

“I bet you think you’re really funny! Anyway, if I turned into a dragon, I’d break the window!”

“That you would. Still, you shouldn’t be so careless with your equipment.” Collecting his notes into a pile, he shoved them inside of a tome for support and rose from his seat to attend Nowi’s problem. “I will help you.”

“Really? YOU, helping someone for free?” 

His eyes dimmed at her blithe sass. “Helping you helps me. If you don’t have any dragonstones, how do you expect to train with us later?”

“Uhh… Good point! Now let’s go on a dragonstone hunt!” She gasped, playful lights dancing in her vibrant eyes. “Hide-and-dragonstone-seek! Heehee! Who knows? It might be lots of fun!” She tugged on his sleeve. “And you look like you could use some for a change!”

“I can guarantee only one of us will derive any fun from this chore,” Soren replied, deadpan as he yanked his sleeve back before she tripped him, dragged himself away from his task, and filed after Nowi’s rollicking form.  


* * *

  
Soren lost track of time with how long and laboriously they searched. By the time Nowi’s stomach began growling like she had eaten one of her own kind, he was quite sure they had scoured every hall and chamber of the castle and every courtyard and garden surrounding it. Even he was beginning to feel the effects of all that walking and no meals, which made him even grumpier and more tired than usual. Keeping up with Nowi was no picnic.

“I’m starving…” complained Nowi, clutching her bare belly with a grimace. “And I smell food!”

“It should be about time for dinner,” wheezed the wind mage, tracing the sun’s path with his hands on his thighs. He scowled, reminded of how much fruitlessly-spent time flew out the window. “We might as well give up our search for now.”

“Where would they go? It’s not like my bag can just grow legs and run away...”

“No, but someone with legs and sticky fingers could think they made off with some pretty treasure.” He inhaled deeply in an attempt to catch more breath without needing to pant. “Why don’t you head to the mess hall already? There will be plenty of people you could pester about it in one place.”

“What about you?” Nowi asked with a tilt of her head and an inquiring pull of her gaze. “You should come eat with me, too! Look at you: you’re so skinny, I could blow you away with one snort!” 

Here, she made to grab for his waist to squeeze it, but he blocked her with a rather harsh sweep of his arm and stepped back, narrowing his eyes with a contemptuous jut of his lower lip. “Your remark might have made more sense if you weren’t so tiny, yourself— and anyway, I would like to head to my quarters before I take my meal.”

“But Soren! We’re on the same team and everything, now! We just spent so much quality time together, I thought we could get to actually know each other over some dinner!”

“I have no interest. I would rather eat with my mouth closed.”

She puffed her cheek out, reddening a little as she added, “But bonding as a team is important! And you never let anyone in! Except maybe _Ike_! Why can’t Nowi come in, too?”

“Who I do and do not associate with is none of your concern,” he dismissed, more harshly than he expected. “If you would excuse me, I will be taking my leave.”

Full-on tears started to wedge in her eyelids as he turned to do just that. “But you never know! W-We might actually have a lot in common! I dunno; I can j-just sense it!”

He grew further away. She stomped her foot and crossed her arms, then twirled away from him on her heel with a loud ‘hmph!’. Oh, she would have the last word and let Soren know just how he made her feel!

“FINE! BE ALONE, YOU BIG MEANIE!!”

 _If your idea of quality time is scrambling around and acting like a brat, then we really have nothing in common,_ thought Soren bitterly as he extricated himself from this passageway as swiftly as his stride would take him. He batted away any of the feelings he couldn’t quite recognize and wouldn’t because he wouldn’t permit them to manifest. Nowi was nothing more than a handful of a teammate, and he didn’t understand why she had insisted on growing closer than warranted, especially when he never advertised himself as a thrilling friend-making prospect to begin with. He must be bothered because their quarrel might anger her, and this petty anger could pose as an obstacle to their training session. He could imagine Ike getting on his case about the way he handled their exchange already.

Okay, perhaps there was room for niggling regret. His strength had never been human interactions, not when there wasn’t some ulterior motive to achieve. The only person he ever had any genuine interest in had always been Ike. Was that so wrong?

Lodged in the mire of the thoughts he was trying not to think, he twisted his path down the winding staircase until the echo he heard faintly at the bottom registered as a man’s voice. It sounded familiar: an animated, smoky smoothness, but he couldn’t place the owner of it immediately. There were many Heroes to sift through, and Soren recalled details like personality traits and combat merit better than voices. Something about it set his hair on end, though, and it bothered him not knowing whose path he would cross before he could anticipate it.

His pace slowed, and he caught onto his mumbled utterances better. “How disappointing.”

Niles?

“They’re pretty to look at, but they’re nothing but a bunch of rocks. How dull. Maybe _some_ are worth holding onto...”

Soren picked up the pace. He had probably been onto something. The closer he got, the stronger the ‘pull’ beckoned.

Naturally, as he debouched from the stairwell, the outlaw’s eye was trained on him. “What’s the hurry? My, what sharp eyes you have. All the better to prick me with, I—”

“Bite that wily tongue of yours," he interrupted. "I am in no mood for mind games or banter.”

He dripped with prurience as he tilted his head just so. “Well, when you come onto me like _that_...”

In order to prevent this line of conversation from drawing exasperating circles, Soren cut to the chase. “That bag. I know who it belongs to.”

“Oh, this?” He dangled the empty pouch before the mage. “Someone’s rock collection, I presume?”

“They’re dragonstones.”

“Hmm?” Curious, he eyeballed the pile, plucking one from it. “Oh, a sapphire! Now there’s a keeper.” Nonetheless, he set it back down on the table against the wall. “But I can see where the confusion might come in.”

Now that he mentioned it, upon second observation, it only resembled the stones Nowi used to transform. It was blue in color, but darker; while the ones she liked were cut into teardrop shapes, this was a rough, amorphous shape, raw and uncut. Niles’s pile contained an assortment of rocks to be sure, of different sizes, shapes, and even colors. It really wouldn’t surprise Soren if she had a penchant for bagging whatever shiny stone resembled one of her magical ones. But something didn’t add up if these were just various rocks, gems, and trinkets. Where did that ‘pull’ come from? He squinted at the collection, but at a comfortable distance.

“If there aren’t any dragonstones in there, then where is all of that energy coming from?”

Niles flashed him a curious look. “Energy?” Then, his eyelid drooped and ‘curious’ sharpened into ‘prying’ that would be disarming in how sultry it appeared coupled with the curve of his grin if Soren were easier to ruffle. “I don’t feel a thing.” He selected another gem, jagged and polished and glowering in the low light, and twisted it around to watch its luster dance. Soren’s blood almost swayed with it, and the way Niles narrowed his eyes and chuckled told him his face must have contorted in some telling way without him realizing. “Say, do you know Corrin very well?”

“Yes; I have information. On both of them.” He crossed his arms and kept his eyes hooked on every whim of Niles’s movements. “What are you doing?”

“You look uncomfortable.” He tossed it in the air, then caught it with a casual flourish. “Anyway, it turns out we have dragonstones in this mess after all.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” Subconsciously, he slid a foot back. The outlaw’s unaffected attitude was beginning to get under his skin as much as the stone’s power, but more than that, it bothered him how he claimed he couldn’t feel the stone in the same capacity he could. Why was he so highly attuned? “...You’re not just pulling my leg, then? About not feeling it.”

“What, this little thing?” He raised it up. “They’re no different from gems, really. Here. Take a look.”

He flung the dragonstone for Soren to catch, and reactively if not a bit awkwardly, he did, clutching it to his chest to keep it from pelting the stone floor. Any thought that was running through his mind blipped into nothing, pushed out by a visceral rush that activated the moment the stone seared into his grip. 

It was blinding. His whole body erupted white hot with the intensity of a firestorm blooming through his veins. For a gravid, almost dissociative spell hanging above the disaster unfurling from within, whatever remained of his consciousness was certain that he had broken free from all the bones and sinew that once neatly contained whatever monstrous force lay dormant until this catastrophe. When his senses renewed, dust filled the air where masonry used to be, bricks and mortar chinking at his exposed toes but causing no pain. The castle grounds sprawled out as though he were peeking through a window from high above, where the staircase should be. These two realizations alone were staggering, and in his dismay, he unleashed a tremendous roar that shook yet more chunks of the fortification down as easily as overripe plums from a tree.

Niles knew better than to remain too close. He backed off, shielding himself from falling debris and no longer looking quite as sure of himself. When the destruction lessened, he peered from his barricade of arms to behold with some unreserved awe the sheer magnitude of Soren’s transformation. He’d been toying around, and it wasn’t like he ever expected mere contact with a dragonstone would trigger this, much less that the aloof tactician was secretly a dragon under all those fashionable robes this whole time. For such a colossal dragon to explode from such a runty mage stunned him into next century — not because he wasn't used to similar sights, but because it was Soren and he was _huge_.

And Soren was expecting it even less.

His next thoughts tumbled with gathering intensity, chaotic, confused, and frightened. How did he roar like that? Why was Niles all the way down there? Why was he so big? Why were his hands slate black claws? Tinged with… red…? He beat his wings— _wings_ — and twisted his massive, unfamiliar form around in a wild bid to run, to escape, to do _something_ with this peril screaming inside of him and all of the horrifying implications this revelation threatened to unveil if he dared spare it a single notion beyond the one bubbling from gut-level: _I am a black dragon and no one must find out!_

_”Burn this from your mind!"_ he thundered senselessly at Niles before stomping out of the rubble he kept creating with each movement, ungainly as he dragged this heavy, foreign body of his. With experimental flaps of his wings, he tried to leap off the ground and embrace flight, but it wasn’t as easy as he had hoped. He flopped onto all fours, belly slung low to the ground, and as embarrassing as it felt, slinked away as quickly as he could manage for the first cover that would be substantial enough to conceal him.

Left in his wake, how could Niles do anything but watch him go? If anything, this scene was burned into his memory, and no amount of purging short of utter brainwashing would make it disappear. He whistled at the aftermath and brushed some fragments out of his hair.

“Looks like I found something interesting after all...”


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you hear the calamity last night?”

“Who didn’t? It sounded like an earthquake…”

“It _felt_ like one, too!”

Ike woke to gossip spinning through throngs of Heroes converging in the midst of their morning routines. No matter the conversationalists, it was always the same sparkle of intrigue dusting loud whispers and hushed exclamations. The longer he strolled through the castle, the more the rumors flashed different hues.

“Tailtiu told me she saw a monster rampaging across the castle grounds…”

“A monster? Now, Ethlyn...”

“Knowing her, she’s probably just trying to stir some extra excitement into this… But who knows? I could have SWORN I heard a terrible roar...”

Never one to care much for idle chitchat, Ike kept his tongue out of it. No matter how much more interesting the stories became, he was too preoccupied with a concern of his own. As the grapevine grew, eventually he, too, found himself tempted to yank on it to taste the fruits of knowledge stemming from that busted tower. He headed in the direction of it on his search for Soren.

The commotion reached his ears that evening, too, but he never took stock of the sheer damage the source of that noise wrought. What could have possibly ripped a hole that size in the fortress’s wall _besides_ a monster? The very integrity of the southwestern tower had been stripped to rubble. Numerous people, members of the Askran court and the Order of Heroes alike, clustered about the remains, cupping their chins in their hands, scratching their heads, circling the perimeter, and rummaging through dusty limestone while occasionally sending the horizon a questioning glance. 

“Wow... “ he appreciated to himself. “What in the goddess’s name happened here?”

“Quite the catastrophe, is it not?”

Ike turned to acknowledge the gentle owner of that sweet voice, who guided her pegasus alongside her, a palm to its shoulder. He nodded, sending one look back to the scene before submitting the majority of his attention to Elincia.

“I’ll say. I hope nobody was hurt in there.”

She halted within comfortable conversation distance, withdrawing her hand to cradle both of them to her chest as she gazed out past Ike. “I haven’t heard word of injuries, but I hope the same…”

“Yeah. Well, good morning to you, Queen Elincia.” He rested his sight on the quiet, composed pegasus. “Doing some kind of training?”

“Now that I have brought her out of her stables, I might, but…” She twisted at the middle and eyed her distant surroundings to indicate her restless gaze. “I was conducting a search.”

Ike’s brow rose. “A search? For what?”

“The dragon… The one that reduced a portion of the castle to rubble.”

“A dragon, huh?” The mercenary hero placed his hand on his hip and regarded Elincia with deepened interest. “I’ve been hearing all kinds of stories from all sorts of people. You can barely squeeze through a corridor without catching one word of last night’s incident. I’ve heard everything from magical training accidents to monsters running amok. What makes you say it’s a dragon?”

“I saw it happen,” replied Elincia with unwavering certainty.

“You did?”

“Yes. I was having a long, engrossing chat in the gardens over there with Ninian of Elibe, when a thunderous noise shook the very air itself. We rose to investigate posthaste, and what we saw was a sizable dragon wreaking havoc on the castle.”

“Oh. That would explain how easily it collapsed,” mused Ike, regarding the destruction once more with illuminated understanding. “I’m surprised we don’t get that more often, what with all the dragon folk in the Order. Do you know which one it was?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. But…” Grave worry tugged at the muscles of her face. “It looked like… I know this might seem absurd, but it struck me as though I were gazing upon Prince Kurthnaga.”

Ike’s expression popped in unfettered surprise. “Prince Kurthnaga?! Here?”

“I am positive that is what I saw. It brought back memories of the siege at Castle Nox. Once you have seen it for yourself, it is hard to forget the terrific majesty of Goldoan royalty.” Ike nodded in agreement, but kept his ears open for Elincia to continue. “Ninian herself could not identify who it was, but she was quite taken aback by the… the pain she sensed in it.”

This deeply unsettled Ike, especially since he was projecting Kurthnaga into the dragon. “It was in pain?”

“That is what she said, and that is what my own eyes seemed to suggest…” The pity manifested in the pronounced sheen of the very eyes she referenced, warm and amber and seeking resolution. “It couldn’t even fly, and the distressed notes of its cries… I’m sure Ninian is more attuned to them than I, but even still, I could feel it tear into my breast as well. It struggled even to walk, and when it did, it scurried away on all fours, body languishing. It disappeared from sight due south of here, toward the woods.”

“I see… That is troubling.”

“I had wanted to take flight and see if I could track it down, but by the time I was ready, it was already nightfall. I wouldn’t have much hope spotting it after dark. So that is what I was doing this morning.” She patted her mount softly. “Unfortunately, my search has yielded nothing.”

“Hmm… Well, that’s quite the mystery, then. It’s not out of the question for Prince Kurthnaga to be summoned here, so what if it really is him?”

“He would be the first laguz to be admitted into the Order of Heroes.” After a long absence of her smile, it renewed at the notion. “I wonder… Would he not be _King_ Kurthnaga? What a slip of the tongue, and for a queen to make!”

“Right. He’s always been a prince to me. Unless he was taken from a point where he was still just a prince, he should be the new king of Goldoa.” After a quick pause infused with extra thought, he added, “Or maybe it’s King Dheginsea?”

“We will never know if we don’t find him. All I see is muddy footprints and a winding trail of broken forest, but no dragon. Needless to say, I will be flying often today.” She offered him a cordial tip of her head. “...Would you care to join me for a round?”

Ike considered, not being especially fond of heights but curious about the elusive dragon and its wake. His response was delayed further when he remembered his original objective in roving the castle.

“I think I’ll pass for now, but I might take you up on it later. This is a bit unrelated, but have you seen Soren at all?”

“Hmm…” She pressed the backside of her index finger to her lips and parsed her latest memories. “It’s been a while, and only in passing. If you’re asking whether I’ve seen him today, the answer is no, I’m afraid I haven’t.” Her cultivated poise slumped ever so slightly. “My apologies.”

“That’s alright.” He spent a sigh and another survey across the lawns and pathways for dark, trailing robes and hair. “We were supposed to meet up for a special training session last night, but he never showed up. It’s not like him to stand me up for anything, so I’m kind of worried.”

Elincia frowned. “Oh dear. That _does_ sound troubling.” She could never claim that she and Soren ever grew close, but she knew enough about the young tactician’s predilection for Ike and his best interests that she could comprehend how out-of-character his absence was under such circumstances. “If I spot him, I won’t hesitate to inform you.”

He nodded in gratitude. “Thank you. Well, I’d better head back inside, then. If your eyes are outside, mine can stay inside.”

“Very true! Best of luck to you, Sir Ike!”

With that, the Crimean queen took to her pegasus and left for the skies. Ike watched her go, then resumed his previous search. He wandered close to the fallen tower, unable to keep his eyes off it and his imagination at bay.

_Could it really be one of the laguz?_

_Why was he suffering?_

_Where did he run off to?_

He hoped that he would discover the answers, and soon.

  


* * *

  


At some point, sleep had quelled the feverish nightmare at last.

When he woke in an enervated daze, he groped for his reality to assess whether it was the concoction of dreams or not. It felt too surreal to be experienced, and by him nonetheless. Here he was, a mangy mage curled up in a grotto by the foothills, plunged deep into wilderness. The closest thing he had to scales were a few scabs here and there.

His head pounded viciously, though. And hotness surged beneath his clammy skin in pulses.

For a while, all he was able to muster was prostration before the mighty toll taken on him. He knew his harrowing reality all along. He had merely been casting coins into a wishing well. How else could his current situation be deduced?

His restless mind paced in lieu of his collapsed legs.

Everything about this was unsightly. Prolonging the inevitable conclusion would not shoo it away, and what he had done necessitated a plan for what he should do, how he should behave when (if?) he ever returned to Castle Askr. He closed his eyes and suffered the taxing cogitation of all the implications his transformation contained. 

Dragonstones resembled laguz stones in that they allowed the user to transform— provided they had an alternate form to switch into. There were stones from other worlds that allowed beastmen like laguz to transform, too, but unlike laguz, they were rather restricted, and could not transform without the aid of special minerals. Laguz stones were merely a method of recharging the stamina such transformations depleted. Soren held laguz stones before, but nothing came of them save a twitching feeling in his body he had taken for granted as a natural byproduct of its magical properties. It made sense to him that dragonstones would emit far greater amounts of energy, since they contained the entire essence of a dragon’s form locked away. After what Niles said, he realized he once again took the sensation of that energy for granted as though it were natural for a common human to feel.

But Soren was no common human, no matter how easy it was to pretend most of the time. He was one of the Branded: a sinful, hair-raising slew of beorc and laguz traits dressed up like a regular beorc child with a curious birthmark stamped across his skin. He was the stuff of scourge and superstition where he came from, destined from birth to suffer for his ancestors’ forbidden union of the flesh. Who his ancestors were— and in particular, his birth parents— was a question he had pondered from time to time, particularly when the warmth radiating from Ike’s family reached him, or when, during the events of the Mad King’s War, he trawled his own experiences for the sake of relating to Ike’s loss of his father so that he might hope to comfort him with words where his staff officer duties wouldn’t. He never had what Ike did, so he couldn’t understand the feeling of losing it to begin with. Whoever his parents were, he had been convinced they left him for dead, like so many other children cursed with the mark.

Like his parentage, he would also, during interstices of idle thought, contemplate which laguz tribe’s blood swam through his. Dragons in all their meticulously conducted diplomatic isolation were the least likely contributors, so unlikely that he had thrown that possibility out the pool of contenders entirely. Now that he had transformed and beheld the same features he had seen on members of Goldoan royalty, he had to fish that possibility right back out and claim it as the only one.

Which meant…

A whole host of unpleasant realizations beset him after that, and if he had anything in his stomach to begin with, he would vomit it up in the queasiness that corrupted him. 

There were only a few black dragons ever to exist. And he was related to all of them. King Dheginsea had lived for so long that he was one of Ashera’s Three Heroes. Soren could narrow down prospective parents pretty quickly based on longevity as impressive and numbers as few as that. One of their stories stood out to him more than the others.

The princess, Queen Consort of the late Mad King Ashnard.

Queen Consort, of the late Mad King Ashnard.

Consort of the late Mad King Ashnard.

Of Mad King Ashnard.

He… no. He refused to believe it. He clung to the tatters of all that was left to rebuke that conclusion.

Dheginsea’s life sprawled into an era regarded as mythological, and who was to say he hadn’t sired any children with beorc before he wed? Long before Goldoa was ever a nation, even? His wife, perhaps? The mark could manifest after generations of the original beorc-laguz couple. But if that were so, then he wouldn’t be transforming into a dragon at all, now would he? And neither would she, covered up as a dirty little secret by Dheginsea himself and hidden from the public, which she was not.

…

There was no other explanation. Rajaion and Ena shared an unwavering bond that would never permit outside unions. Almedha’s story connected too seamlessly with his to sensibly refute. She had stolen away to Daein in a fit of defiance and gave birth to a child who dispossessed her of draconic power, the mainstay of her identity.

The last, if not the first meaningful, exchange they ever had perplexed him. Now, the desperate, forlorn tug in her flashing eyes made perfect sense. Back then, she must have known.

She was his mother, and he her son. 

Izuka had selected Pelleas as a decoy thanks to the spirit mark on his forehead and his resemblance to the man who was not his father, but… Soren’s.

Ashnard was his…

He could not even complete the sentence mentally. It was too abominable, and what did that make _him?_

An abomination.

Naturally.

He could feel it in his wretched organs, the detestable sludge of that man’s foul products mingling with the overbearing, ill-fated dragon princess’s. It slithered in his pulse, beaded in his sweat. While Ashnard had never done anything to personally cross him, it was the idea that he had once been a hated enemy of Ike’s, a loathsome creature deranged enough to slaughter his entire family so that he alone may squat on the throne and coax the continent into shedding enough blood to awaken the chaos of the gods to unmake the world for his. If Ike discovered the truth, how would he look at him then…?

That, perhaps, was more unbearable to consider than where he inherited his body. He could handle him being branded. He could probably also handle the ground-breaking fact that he could shed his skin for scales if handed the right tool. But that he was the missing son Ashnard begot…? The prince of not one, but two nations?

He squirmed and cramped on the dirt, biting back the physical pain these series of revelations inflicted upon him. It wouldn’t matter how anyone else would take the news, and it ultimately didn't mean much to him, either, especially not in a place like Askr; all that mattered was how he couldn’t handle it if this objectionable aspect distanced Ike from him. It would be nice if he could dust himself off and feign ignorance to the dragon that ravaged a portion of the castle, but given his circumstances, he was not afforded that convenience. How could he expect to dance around revealing this to Ike when Niles had witnessed it all?

He was notorious for wagging his tongue in places it wasn’t wanted. For all Soren knew, he’d already set fire to his new secret. It wouldn’t be long before the news traveled to Ike, and then…

The higher plane of his thoughts tried in vain to reassure his panicking self, the one stricken by the horror of potential rejection. But the din of his fears drowned it out. Better safe than sorry, after all, it hissed.

He lied there for as long as it took the sun to crown the sky’s highest point. If he possessed the necessary willpower, he might have uncrumpled himself by now. Instead, he fussed over how to conduct his return.

The measured shift of shrubs parting their leaves for a moving presence uprooted him from his speculations. He tipped his head to exchange scarlet gazes with an icy blue presence: Ninian.

She stopped once he spotted her, hands tucked close to her breast as an indiscernible sorrow twisted in every corner of her anxious expression. Soren tried to read it with his dull vision, and in his frame of mind, he apprehended fear. This was wrong, for if she were fearful, she would not dare to approach yet as she proceeded to do, slowly, inching as though— yes, afraid in a word, but not _of_ him. More like she was afraid of _hurting_ him.

Not wanting to be caught in such a vulnerable, pitiable state, the wind mage lifted himself up at last, but only halfway as he sat legs curled on the earth. His surroundings twirled celadon, forest, and umber momentarily, making the dancer dance. She halted her advance at the edge of the grass that gave way to the bare soil Soren found himself on. The way she studied him so intently and with such emotion set his hackles up.

“What are you… doing all the way out here?” he questioned her on a gravelly voice. He cleared his throat quietly with a dry swallow.

“...It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked him carefully, disregarding his question but answering it in her own way. He knew she knew, and yet his impulse was to deny it.

“...What do _you_ know…”

Ninian was never particularly articulate under pressure and scrutiny. She struggled with how to mold her sentiments into words.

“...Um… You… You transformed last night, didn’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes, then showed her the back of his head. He would not accept it. He hated that someone else knew, hated the sixth sense she seemed to possess prying into his soul. It reminded him of a fortune-teller almost as unfortunate as him.

She needed no reply to glean the truth when she read it in the strangled solemness of his reaction. “Are you… okay?”

It was as though she reached out to touch his heart, but he froze it in place so the warmth of her concern could not melt it. He exacted an invisible barrier to shut her and all of her good intentions out. “Yes. Merely tired.”

If it were of no great issue, Ninian might slowly let off once she could sense him push her away. He was not merely tired; he was burdened with so much more than he would ever admit.

“You have never done that before, have you?” she tried.

He bristled, uncomfortable and exposed. “Why does it matter to you? We are not the same. I am no manakete, and I was never meant to transform.”

The dancer wondered what might console someone as resistant as him. “Please do not be afraid, Soren.”

He twisted back around to defend himself. “I am not afraid! Leave me be already!”

Her eyes glazed with profound sadness. “Soren...”

“And don’t you dare speak a word of this to anyone.”

Though she knew it to breach the walls he so desperately constructed around himself, she edged even closer, then crouched, not close enough to touch him, but to convey a sense that she truly wanted to level with him. “I will not, if it troubles you. I mean no ill will upon you. I just... want to help…”

“...”

“You may not be a manakete, but I could always sense a... familiar energy about you. Perhaps this was what it was. If you are not a manakete, then… would it be too intrusive of me to ask what you are?”

Soren hesitated to tell her, even though he had, more than ever before, come to terms with being a child of the mark. The chill of having his existence denied returned to haunt him in spite of Ninian’s undivided attention. He knew better, though: she held no prejudices to color her opinion of him. Though she could transform into a dragon, she was no laguz. Taking a muted breath, he formed a reply, unable to keep his eyes from his lap.

“I am, what they call in my world, Branded. It means that I carry the blood of both beorc and… laguz. And historically, we have been loathed for it by both of them.”

“Ah. I think I understand.”

Soren raised an eyebrow at her. “You do?”

She nodded. “A laguz is a member of a race that can transform into different animals. Beorc do not. Queen Elincia told me all about them.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “We are more similar than I imagined. You see, I am only half as well.”

Intrigue settled in Soren’s attentive gaze. “And yet you can transform.”

“Just as you can.”

He averted his gaze to digest these facts. The sickness flopped over in his gut, but it had nothing to do with his newfound ability to shift _like a laguz_. He was simply reminded of the hideous ramifications, and how Ike would probably be able to put two and two together once he realized he was among the dragons.

“...Soren? What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” he replied with haste. Moving to get up proved difficult, and he shook with the exertion and the soreness that hardened his muscles. Ninian moved to help him up, but he shot her a wary look, so in her wishes to respect his personal space as much as possible, her hands hovered, ready to catch him in the off-chance he toppled over.

“Are you… hurt?”

“Mostly just… tired…”

Ninian bit her lip, sorry for his condition. “You have been out all night, and half of the day. Shall I invigorate you with a dance?”

Soren almost smiled, but it materialized as a quirk of the lips. “It would be foolish to decline such an offer in my state.”

With a clap of her hands and a twirl of her body, she strung her shawl out to perform for the exhausted wind mage, who learned today that he was also a dragon. The feelings of sympathetic rapport she so longed to express manifested in the artistic passion of her sinuous movements, coupled with the sincerity and depth of the emotions she flashed on her countenance. It captivated Soren, and without the use of a single word, Ninian managed to touch his heart at last.


	3. Chapter 3

Soren never quite comprehended just how far he’d rampaged last night until he had to drag himself back the way he came. If Ninian hadn’t arrived, he wouldn’t have been able to make it half as far in the time he did. While her dancing could never replace sleep and sustenance, it afforded him the bursts of energy necessary to carry his weary body across the labyrinth of trees. It horrified him just a little when they passed by trails of broken, toppled evergreens, knowing it had been the titanic force of body that tore through the ancient patchwork of arboreal growth like a seam ripper. He barely remembered a thing of it; the hazy memory haunted the edges of his consciousness like a nightmare of plunging through a thunderstorm of crackling bark.

As they traveled, they crossed paths with a group of armed men dressed in coarse, drab cuts of well-worn cloth like they hailed from a local village, treading the devastation and pointing fingers at it with nods and popped eyes. Their conversations blended together, but Soren picked up phrases like “cutting wood”, “should have seen”, “monster”, and “do about it”. It’s enough to parse that he must have disturbed at least _someone_ enough to warrant this search party, and most naturally, they were concerned for the whereabouts of this reptilian beast and whether the safety of their community could be jeopardized by its existence. _His_ existence.

Ninian fixed her eyes on them warily, moving so that Soren was obscured from view. In his opinion, she had more to worry about. 

“Hey! Who’re you?” bellowed one of the men. Ninian flinched, but turned around to indirectly face him. Soren did the same.

“We’re… from the Order of Heroes,” she declared before Soren could.

“Oh, really? Then you ought to know ‘bout the monster that ravaged this place last night. It was dark as night and full of fangs and claws. Y’can get a sense of the _size_ of it just by looking at the damage done to the forest! It’s unnatural, and it needs to be dealt with!” 

Soren’s attention drew to the tightness of Ninian’s clenched fists. “It was no monster,” she asserted.

The men glanced at each other, and the one who called out to them quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Then… what is it?”

“...We must be going. This boy is injured.” Without further delay, she turned back around and flashed her intent at her companion, who trudged after her. The men called back, even offered to allow them to rest in one of the woodcutter’s cottages nearby, but Ninian did not balk.

Ever since that exchange, her bearing changed, like liquid hardening to solid. Unlike Soren, she had always known of her draconic origins. With that in mind, Soren was able to tap into the undercurrent of her feelings, how it flowed against that man’s accusations and what it meant to her when dragons were equated with monsters and known only for their potential to destroy. 

It wasn’t a strange new feeling for Soren. He had grown accustomed to being treated like a monster in need of extermination. Indirectly, it really _had_ been because he was a dragon. No one needed to know the truth for the effect to be the same.

The moment they breached the treeline onto castle grounds, a pegasus veered in the sky. The nearer it grew, the clearer its rider became, enough to tell that there were two of them. Soren could already recognize one of the riders by the pegasus alone, but when he glimpsed the second, his heart sank coldly. With a few robust flaps, she alighted on the turf, tickling the flora they emerged from with the ensuing gusts.

“Oh, no!” Elincia appeared more wounded than Soren to see him so wasted away, and the alarm cut palpably into her tone. “What happened to you?”

“...” He closed his eyes, knowing that, even if he lied, it would be futile to do so in this company.

Micaiah alighted to the ground in one hurtling kick. Her golden eyes flickered all over his wan complexion and dirty robes as she approached. He narrowed his eyes. She pursed her lips. In an instant, she gathered her energy into her hands and concentrated it into the other child of the mark, restoring him of his minor injuries. Soren was too tired to resist her senseless act of kindness, and with Ninian propping him up with both arms, he had little choice. The only place he felt he could escape was behind his eyelids.

“That was… unnecessary,” he chided.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yes, but now you are.”

“I can handle it. I just wanted to give you some relief. You look awful.”

Soren unveiled his dark vision to find her poring over him, concerned, imploring, probing. It made his skin crawl enough to break away from Ninian’s support altogether. He shuffled away from the loose corral of uncannily intuitive women and met with Elincia approaching him, too, the same worry stitched into her brow.

“Sir Ike is looking all over for you,” she informed him. “I daresay he’s been at it all day.”

His heart sank even deeper into its frigid prison. Above all matters, he dreaded dealing with Ike the most, and doing so in his state would only prickle the other man’s current unease even more. 

“Is that so.” 

“Of course! You’re important to him, aren’t you? And now you’re in the woods, ready to keel over? Just what happened? Where did you go?”

“Personal business.” He couldn’t be drier than inland sand.

“Is this… about the dragon?” Micaiah asked. She glanced to Ninian, who wore deep apprehension she could not conceal, and trained her gaze back to Soren, who was trying desperately to freeze his heart still. The chaos roiling beneath that frosty layer was too powerful for her to ignore, his thoughts too intense for her not to chart them. His glacial heart sank with dread, and in this stormy sea brewing between them, her heart capsized with his.

“Yes! It’s about the dragon,” he hissed. 

“Did you encounter him?” questioned Elincia, shocked. “Was it truly King Kurthnaga? Soren, you must tell me—”

“Please leave me be!” he shouted with more spitting vehemence than intended, like a viper cornered. “I don’t have the energy required for this round of badgering.”

“Here… Why don’t I give you a ride?” she offered instead. “You needn’t walk any further. I could drop you off at the infirmary, or your quarters. We could even find Sir Ike, if you so desire.”

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ wasn’t making sense?” he snapped, impatient with burgeoning stress. Elincia dropped her hand, stymied by his passionate resistance and asking more questions in her head than she ever voiced. Ninian rushed by the other two women to catch up with Soren, shooting the queen her determination.

“I will continue to help him. Please do not be too troubled. All will be well.”

Micaiah and Elincia shared in an exchange of bewildered uneasiness that softened to reassurance granted by Ninian’s conviction left uncontested by Soren. “...Very well then. Sorry to have bothered you, Soren,” apologized Elincia.

“...It’s nothing,” he muttered as he increased the distance between them.

“Please take it easy,” added Micaiah, whom he gave no further replies.

As Ninian escorted Soren back to the castle, Elincia and Micaiah shared a graver look.

“What could he be so intent on hiding?” pondered Elincia, sending her sights past the seer and deep into the woods. Micaiah sent hers in the opposite direction, toward Soren’s shrinking form.

“...Something just upended his entire life. Something…”

  


* * *

  


It would only be a matter of time before the entire Order of Heroes knew what caused the damage to the tower. This fact settled over Soren like an ill-fitting cloak he would sooner cast off than continue to wear, but there would be no shrugging this one. How long Ninian could keep his secret, he could not yet discern, and with Elincia and Micaiah left in his wake, he could take easy guesses as to what they must have discussed as he turned his back to them.

It didn’t bother him so much to have Ninian comprehend his plight. At first, he had, but almost as soon as she did, he dropped his guard for her much more easily than he would have expected himself to. He didn’t read into his own feelings too much, especially since his current issue of how to deal with other people mounted higher on his list of priorities than navel-gazing about something so comparatively irrelevant. Having Micaiah and Elincia know the truth about his origins, however, strung him up inside. They would understand the discrete nuances of just why being Almedha’s son bothered him so much, but Ninian only understood that he was a dragon like her, and he needed help. The anxious eyes she would keep giving him pierced his bones and descried his blood, but it never raised his hackles like it did when no one save Niles bore witness to the truth, and he made no unusual attempt to harden his shell for her. It was laughably uncharacteristic of him not to be even a little more bothered by the natural ease he felt around her, like she had phased into a presence as innocuous to him as his own breath. This was more of a benefit than a hindrance to him, especially when she became more an extra pair of limbs for his purposes.

She guided him somewhere private and secluded, a guestroom left unlocked. She understood his desire for privacy, a refuge to recover in without the fear of being disturbed. The young half-dragon had only been dimly aware of his hidden powers until one cataclysmic moment, and scarcely had the time to process his new self-awareness. Ninian felt a powerful instinct to shelter the boy from the rest of the world while he struggled with his vulnerability.

The ice dragon closed the door after surveying the peaceful solitude of the bedchamber’s interior. “...This should be a good place for you to rest for now.”

The bed called to Soren, who sat at the edge of it, posture sinking like gravity finally conquered him as he settled his eyes upon her dully. For an extended pause, he couldn’t find the appropriate thing to say to her, or even what he wanted to. Was there something he ought to say? Their reigning silence had been so comfortable to him that slipping out of it at last had him fumbling. His current worries prevailed instead.

“...You won’t… tell anyone what happened, correct?”

She shook her head with a soft smile worn to console. “I will guard your secret until you are ready. This, I swear, and I do not do so lightly.”

“...Good. Not that I think… it will do any good.” He closed his heavy eyes in tired resignation. “Word will get around eventually. I will have to confront it.”

Ninian sensed that he did not want to be coddled nor smothered, but she wanted to offer him some condolence besides what she had already given him. She folded her hands together and arrived at the center of the room, maintaining her voice at an intimate low. “...Even if others find out about your… what you are, there should be nothing to fear. Dragons are not so strange here, and among the Order of Heroes, I have happily discovered that… dragons and humans share easy company…” 

Soren granted her no reply. A corner of his soul found solace in her words, but it was at a point he was not focused on. Ninian’s smile weakened, but she tried not to be disheartened. Soren was going through a lot.

“If there is anything you would like to understand about yourself, feel free to consult me.”

“I might take you up on that… later.”

Feeling just a little more useful to him, her smile freshened up, and she twisted her body toward the direction of the exit. “But first, worry about nothing but sleep. I will bring you something to eat for when you wake up, and ensure that no one disturbs you.”

“...Why?”

“...’Why’?” She halted to regard him with puzzlement, her glittery belt chinking once softly. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you… so intent on helping me? Going out of your way… What do you gain from this?”

Ninian regarded him sadly. “I am not trying to gain anything. I simply wish to help you. As a fellow half-dragon, I feel a sort of… kinship. A special bond. Is that strange?”

Soren curled up on the bed, not bothering to expend the meager effort it might take to crawl beneath the covers. “You and I are no kin, so… yes,” he replied on a threadbare voice.

“Nevertheless…” She left it at that, then pried the door open with a gentle hand. Before she decided to say her parting words, she peeked around the corners for other presences. “Rest up, Soren. You need it.”

“Mmm…”

Despite his wariness toward her unhesitating munificence, he found himself lulled by exhaustion and a sense of security hovering over him like an invisible blanket. Trust in others was the hardest resource for him to come by, and yet here, perhaps in part due to his desperation, he found it. Kinship… He could never claim that he understood anything but the mere framework of bonds people idealized higher than anything else, wrought first by blood, then nurture. Ike had always insisted that the mercenary company was like a family of its own, but Soren had only neglect and disdain as parents to reference for the longest time, and the comparison had always been a foggy one at best. If the comfort of kinship helped others sleep at night, then it was moments like these that Soren felt he might have embarked on some kind of understanding. 

Ike passed by his drowsy mind like a drifting cloud, but the light thought darkened as Soren fretted in vain against the possibility of an unsavory reaction that would alter their relationship.

  


* * *

  


Ike frowned at the thick, solid-core door leading into the war room.

It wasn’t completely soundproof, especially when Sharena’s bubbly voice rose to shriller octaves. That’s how he knew she was in there, and if she was inside and the door was shut, then chances were that other members of Askran royalty might be in there discussing a matter of high priority. Given the day’s events, it wouldn’t be unheard of for them to assemble for a deeply involved discussion about the castle damage. Anna was in there, too, and if Anna and Sharena were there, Ike was willing to gamble on Kiran being present.

At least, that’s what he hoped. Even better would be if Soren happened to be there, too. His penchant for strategy did not go unnoticed among higher ranks, so, like the other tactical brains in the Order, he would be among those consulted for his opinion. In light of that invaluable talent, the question waiting on his tongue tasted strange. How long Ike could bear standing there scowling at the door, he didn’t know, but his patience had been worn ragged throughout the day, and so, he rapped on the door as politely as he could manage.

“Excuse me,” he called. After a short pause, the door opened at his bidding, and Robin peered up at him curiously.

“Oh, Ike!” Sure enough, there was Anna, a smile tugging at her lips as she propped herself up at the long table spread with maps, parchment, books, various sculpted markers of sundry significance, and plates of snacks with tea to accompany. Beside her was not only Sharena, but Alfonse and Kiran, with the addition of Corrin and Leo at the table as well. Elise was there, too, but she glanced up with biscuit crumbs on her wide-eyed face like a squirrel caught digging in someone’s garden. “What brings you in?”

“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but…” He adjusted the knot of his headband, rendered awkward for overriding their business with something that might seem petty in comparison. It was important to him, though. “I just wanted to ask Kiran a quick question. Just to put my mind at ease, that’s all. But maybe I should have waited.” 

The summoner folded their hands across the tabletop, hood obscuring the gaze they fixed on the Hero of the Blue Flames. Kiran was never very expressive, especially with that hood perpetually obscuring half of their face, but the gesture alone communicated that they were receptive to his inquiry. 

“Oh, it’s fine!” reassured Sharena with a brisk wave of her hand. “You can join us, if you’d like! We’re just in the middle of addressing what happened last night. It’s no big secret or anything.”

“Sorry, but I’m a little busy, myself. I’ll make it quick.” He shifted away from the door frame, straightening his posture on the small entry rug embellished by Askr’s gleaming emblem. “Did you, uh… send Soren home?”

He won the blank stares of everyone in the room. Kiran parted their lips and held them agape there.

“What? Kiran would never do that!” interjected Sharena, hands on hips.

“It isn’t like you haven’t sent him home before,” noted Robin on the contrary. “But those were freshly initiated summons, and we were low on space.”

“Don’t forget merging!” added Anna.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” muttered Leo with a faint shudder. Corrin smiled uneasily next to him.

“Don’t get me started on alternate versions of yourself…”

“But you were so cute at the beach!” squealed Elise between licking her fingers off. 

Corrin blushed. “Elise, not now…”

“And you’re cute as a girl...!” she added, finishing with the rising tone that implied she was still listing off versions of Corrin she adored. Leo cleared his throat with a slanted glance directed at his younger sister.

“We’re getting sidetracked.” He shifted his attention over to the mercenary hero. “Why do you pose this question?”

“I just haven’t seen him around like I normally do, that’s all. He arranged to practice with me last evening, but he never showed up. And now he’s gone missing. I’ve checked his usual haunts more times than I can count.” The setting sunlight spilling in from the pair of windows burned golden halos onto the fair manes belonging to the Heroes from the World of Conquest sitting at that end of the table, burnishing their armor, especially highlighting the midnight gleam of Leo's pauldrons. “You can say it’s been a while. Longer than I’m used to from him.”

“I see…” hummed Alfonse, appropriately pensive. “There is a lot of area to cover, however. Might he be outside?”

“The last time I checked in with her, Queen Elincia said she hadn’t seen him, and she’s taken to patrolling for the dragon. She hasn’t seen that, either. But you’re right. I probably just haven’t crossed paths with him, yet.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the dragon, would it?” asked Corrin innocently, recovering from her spell of embarrassment.

“Actually, I’m interested in that, too. Have any of you witnessed it?”

Everyone in the room shook their heads, some more slowly than others. Ike scratched his.

“Monster, dragon, demon— everyone has a different term for it,” spoke Anna, listing each one on her oversized glove fingers. “We’ve received word from the people of Askr claiming they saw a terrible monster en route to the neighboring villages and towns. They’re requesting that we send out squadrons of our Heroes to help protect them in case of another attack, or find a way to slay the beast so everyone can sleep at night. I mean, the proof is in the pudding, right?" She pointed to the map detailing Askr Castle's ruined wilds. "Or should I say, the facts are in the forest?”

Ike swallowed the lump growing in his throat, and the hard glower intensifying on his face struck daunted surprise into his audience. He blurted his next words straight from his guts. “We’re not slaying him.”

Anna’s face fell. “But the protection money! It could earn us some extra profits, some of which could be pooled to help rebuild the ruined portion of the castle. Besides, it would put the people at ea—”

Ike was getting heated, and he barged further into the room with enough shoulder action to flare his cape behind him on his short course. “Haven’t you stopped to think about _who_ that dragon might be? That he might have been confused, or hurt, or—”

“Whoa, whoa! Simmer down there, legendary justice warrior!” deflected Anna with her hands raised in an attempt to assuage him, masking her spike of nerves with her typical cheerful flair. “We have yet to confirm if it _is_ a dragon at this point, or if it is, whether the dragon has an evil agenda or not. You never know with dragons, no matter which world you come from. And if it doesn’t, then we don’t have to slay it! We’re at the drawing board for a reason!”

Some of the tension deflated in Ike’s posture, but he held onto his indignant readiness to protest her suggestions. “I have reason to believe it must have been a new Hero.” Then, he shifted focus to Kiran, who remained stolid as they matched eye contact with a tilt of the chin. “Have you summoned anyone new as of late?”

Kiran shook their head.

“Just some Odin-looking knockoff named Owain,” dismissed Sharena with a shrug. Leo rested his aching head on his palm, while Robin opened his mouth to object, but then closed it promptly in order to avoid tangling this conversation into an Odwain-shaped pretzel. “Other than that, an army of Raighs, maybe.”

The summoner frowned.

Ike did, too, suddenly stumped about the entire Kurthnaga (or Dheginsea) debacle. “Huh. Go figure.”

“Why do you say that?” questioned Robin from behind him. “That it must be a new hero?” He turned to face Chrom's tactician.

“Queen Elincia witnessed it when it happened.” He lowered his gaze to one of the maps, where damage to the forest and other surrounding areas were outlined. “It was definitely a dragon. A dragon laguz from my world, which is a race of people who can transform into beast, bird, or dragon forms.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard of those!” exclaimed Corrin brightly before settling into a more sober mien. “Pretty recently, actually. But if they weren’t summoned here, then…”

“...Things just got a lot more interesting, didn’t they?” posed Alfonse. Then, a look of dread crossed him. “Oh no…”

“What?” asked Sharena and Anna in unison.

“If we didn’t summon the hero, then I wonder…” He shut his eyes, the thought excruciating.

Anna and Sharena exchanged the same grave look. “Oh no.”

“These… dragon laguz,” Leo began, attention fastened to Ike again. “Just how formidable of foes are they?”

“Very. Let me put it this way: I wouldn’t want to cross one unless the fate of the world depended on it. Especially not a black one.”

“And this one was…?”

“Black.”

“Oh no,” Anna, Sharena, and Alfonse repeated at once.

“Sir Ike! There you are!”

Everyone’s focus gravitated to the owner of the voice calling for Ike. Elincia’s pace slowed upon realizing they might be in the midst of a meeting, but she had seen his back turned and didn’t hesitate on her mission to bring him her news. Ike all but walked out of the room for her sake, hopefulness lifting his expression from its grim descent.

“Queen Elincia. Oh? And Micaiah, too.”

“Good evening, Ike,” greeted the Maiden of Dawn with a smile. She glanced at the room mostly obscured by Ike, and her smile lost some of its light. “...Are we interrupting something?”

“Oh, no. More like I was interrupting something,” admits Ike with a passing glance at the war room council. “Sorry, everyone. And thanks for your time.”

“But wait!” piped Anna, holding a hand out as if to stop him. "You three are Heroes from the World of Radiance, aren’t you? What else do you know about these dangerous black dragon laguz?”

Elincia and Micaiah blinked a few times as they slipped into the frame of the conversation Ike was about to leave behind. Then, Ike asked, “What else would you like to know?”

“Their weaknesses, perhaps?”

Ike frowned. As much as he understood the problem if Embla had decided to summon one of the Goldoan royals to Zenith, he couldn’t shake the unease that came with the impression he got with describing their plans as monster-slaying. He took a deep breath.

“Okay, let me be clear on one thing: I don’t like the way this sounds. If I can help it, I’d rather talk to him, first. If it’s who I think it is, he might be an old ally of of mine. A friend.”

“But you can’t persuade someone bound to a contract by Embla without defeating them, first,” reminded Alfonse. “It’s not like we want to senselessly destroy the dragon. We just don’t want to be caught unprepared and suffer casualties of our own.”

“...I get it. Well, they're like most dragons, I guess. They have a weakness to thunder magic, weapons effective against dragons, and those forged specifically to fight against laguz. But depending on the dragon we’re up against, I think we could have bigger things to worry about.”

“Such as?" Alfonse prompted.

“King Dheginsea had been alive even during the time the goddess walked Tellius,” Micaiah continued as she entered the room to stand alongside Ike. “With her blessing, regular weapons can’t lay a scratch on him.”

“In other words, he doesn’t have much in the ways of weakness at all. Which is why, if you’re going to confront him… I would suggest bringing me along,” finalized Ike. “Otherwise, you're in for a nasty surprise. Ragnell should still carry Yune’s blessing.”

Everyone was paling so hard, the war room was beginning to resemble the infirmary.

“You, uh… bring up a fair point,” comments Sharena nervously. “What should we do, then?”

“What about weapons blessed by divine entities from other realms?” brought up Robin. “Such as Falchion, for example?”

“That might stand a chance,” mused Ike. For a fleeting moment, he thought to look to Soren for a second opinion, but only out of habit, and it only served as a reminder that Soren was frustratingly AWOL. Robin was hailed as a renowned tactician in his own right, so his opinion could be relied on. “I’ve never tried it myself, for obvious reasons. It’s a blessed sword, though, right?” 

“It’s a legendary sword crafted of and blessed by Naga herself. A long time ago, from my perspective, it was instrumental in defeating the Dark Dragon, Medeus, as it was the Fell Dragon, Grima. Above other weapons, I would put a lot of stake in it being capable of besting this dragon king.”

“My Brynhildr tome is a divine weapon, also,” stated Leo. “As is the Yato blade wielded by Corrin.”

“It looks like we already stand a pretty good chance against a powerful foe blessed by a goddess,” observed Anna with confidence. “And that’s just with the Heroes standing in this room!”

“Then perhaps, if we do send out squads of sentinels to set the Askran people at ease, we should make sure each group has at least one wielder of a divine weapon in case of the worst,” suggested Alfonse. “We have quite a few at our disposal, thankfully.”

“But Ragnell is the safest bet,” assured Ike. “And I would definitely like to speak with this dragon if I can have the chance.”

“As would I,” Elincia chimed in. "He is an ally of mine, as well."

“...Micaiah? Are you okay?” Sharena asked, rising from her seat abruptly with features drawn in horrified sympathy. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I…” All eyes fell upon her, stirring the trenchant uneasiness that bubbled within her like a vile swamp. “I don’t think… there’s a need for such a powerful assault.”

Curiosity colored their gazes. “What do you mean?” the princess of Askr continued.

“That dragon… It’s not who you think it is,” she replied, clutching at the blue scarf around her neck. Visions of carnage and anguish swam with the anticipatory figures in the war room, and she shook her head. “I… must go. Please excuse me.”

“Micaiah—” Ike made to stop her with his objection, but she had already flown the scene. 

“Weird girl,” remarked Leo. “The least she could have done was explain herself better.”

“Yeah! Talk about cryptic,” agreed Elise, visibly disturbed, but by mild worry along with the creeps she gave her. "...She's gonna be okay, right?"

“She has some... prophetic abilities,” explained Elincia as she peered down the corridor apprehensively. “I can’t claim to understand them well, but she is highly attuned to the sway of people’s emotions and the consequences that unfold before they ever occur.”

“Should we… listen to her?” questioned Alfonse.

“I don’t see any harm in being prepared in case her predictions are wrong,” proposed Corrin. “If anything, I interpreted her statement to mean that she did not forsee the dragon king as our opponent, so we shouldn’t fuss over stocking up on divine weapons too much.” Her frown deepened. “But the look on her face...”

“I dunno. Guess this means I have to hunt her down for a little chat later,” sighed Ike. He exchanged a look with Elincia before turning to the rest of the council, particularly Anna. “Well, let me know when you have need of me, all right? I have another problem I’m already hunting down, and I won't rest until he's dealt with.”

“Sure thing!” said Anna. “Good luck wrangling that sourpuss of yours!”

Ike and Elincia took their leave of the room. Once they shut the door behind them, they began walking side-by-side in no particular direction, because the conversation Elincia sparked between them took precedence.

“Speaking of which, I was trying to get your attention for a reason. I managed to locate Soren just a while ago.”

Ike almost gasped, but he shot her a subdued look of relieved surprise. “You did? Where was he?”

“He…” By the way Elincia paused after a hesitant tone, Ike’s hopes diffused just a little. She trained her unsmiling gaze on the transpiring floorpath, the echo of their matched steps ticking like seconds. “...was at the edge of the woods. He never explained what he was doing there, but his condition was rather alarming…”

The mercenary halted their advance entirely to direct his shock at her. “What?!”

Watching the demanding intensity flashing in his blue eyes seared her like the scorch of a fireside too hot on her brow, and she averted, wishing not to have to bear bad news on top of her glad one. “He looked haggard and unkempt, like he had been living in the wilderness for weeks.”

A distant memory, one that he had only recently gained unsealed access to, flickered in his mind at the description, and the particular association with a feral, persecuted child on the verge of starvation made it that much worse. He groaned with a toss of his arms and threw his head in his hand as he muttered in exasperation, “Soren, what’s gotten _in_ to you?”

“I can only wonder. Micaiah seems worried about him. But strangely enough, he emerged from the woods with Ninian at his side.”

“Ninian? The dancer?”

“Yes. I take heart that while he refused our assistance, he did not protest hers. She escorted him into the castle, so rest assured, he has been tended to.”

Ike straightened up with a wrinkled brow as he ironed over his thoughts briefly. “Interesting… Not that I’m not a little relieved by it, but his behavior seems really... off.”

“I cannot but agree with you.”

“All of it. He’s being really weird. Wonder what he’s up to?”

“Do you think…" Micaiah's words and the small, frustratingly opaque conversation they shared earlier rang through her. "It has something to do with the dragon?”

Ike thought about this, too, bringing his fingers up to perch next to his mouth as he sunk into his reasoning. “You know, that might make sense. I wonder if he saw reason to pursue the dragon? I mean, if you saw King Kurthnaga bust open a part of the castle, wouldn’t you be a little curious what that was about?”

“Absolutely. I was simply too late to pursue it, and Ninian was with me, too, so… It makes sense that she would find him.”

“Wow. He must have gone on quite the chase. I wonder what he knows?”

“All the more reason to find him as soon as we can,” decided Elincia. “I won’t let him get away next time,” she determined. “I have my own questions to ask him, after all.”

“I’ll get the whole castle to go on a Soren hunt if I must,” added Ike with a grin. “I think we have some relevant information we need to tell Kiran. Let’s go back, shall we?”

Elincia smiled after him. “Let’s!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the interest, you guys! It's been a fun write so far. It's not the most perfect piece, but hopefully there's stuff embedded in here that makes it all a worthwhile read.
> 
> I'm sure some of you may have noticed the chapter count adjustments. It is one of my biggest follies. Here I was, expecting myself to complete this work in nary but three (3) chapters, but after coming to terms with my shortsightedness, I gave in to 6. If you want me to be perfectly honest, I don't even know if that's the final count. It's just a roughshod estimation. But I know where it's going!
> 
> In other news: S-SO, ABOUT THOSE SPANKING NEW "DREAM" CORRIN ALTS... I keep making jokes about my psychic powers, but I really regret when they produce real results. So, regarding the last chapter? You're welcome. I called it, everyone. 
> 
> I will never joke about alts again. Unless I... _want_ them to happen? Okay, guys, who do you want for Christmas? Anna Claus? Reindeer Reinhardt? (this is how it works, right?)

Shadows of the sparse furnishings danced in the candlelight that Ninian likely procured for his sake when he woke next. The whiff of curried meat pie snagged his senses next, and in the following, flashing moment, he was upon the culinary offerings brought to him, wholly commanded by the void yawning within his body like a hollow, brittle cavern. The fulfillment of his most basic needs possessed him for a time, but when those were slaked, he straightened back up again, sipped at the elixir she also left, and focused on his next matter of business.

...Which would be pretending things were business as usual. The last thing he needed was for anyone to see a crack in his disposition, which might invite questions. He couldn’t avoid them from some people, but if he could get by dealing with most, that would be a little more bearable. He wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of Anna, Sharena, Alfonse, or Kiran being privy to his ability to transform with dragonstones, and if he had to look Niles in the eye again, he might just die. Nowi might have questions, too, and Azura, and without a single scrap of doubt, Ike. 

With additional healing and nourishment, his other senses began to clear, the dam obstructing the flow of his thoughts broken. How long had he slept? The afternoon away? Two nights? He stopped breathing to listen intently on the exterior of his room and noted its barren soundlessness. Most residents would be sleeping. It was the type of silence that surpassed midnight.

Early morning, perhaps. The candle wax wept heavily, and the pie had been cold on the outside, scarcely lukewarm in the center. Soren rose, wrinkling his nose in disdain at the tear in his sleeve as he gingerly wiped his face on it, not caring about keeping them smudge-free when they were due for a wash and a tailor, if not discarded altogether. Soren was grateful for his body waking him in the dead of night, because that would be the most convenient time for him to slink around without snagging unwanted attention.

Unless he had trouble sleeping, Ike usually departed for bed before Soren did, if he didn’t pester Soren to come with him whenever he was caught up too late absorbed in the flow of his work. He was probably driven frantic by his conspicuous absence, and rightfully so. Therefore, there was a good chance that he might be on the prowl, having tormented himself with too many questions while he stared at the dark ceiling. Soren had to tread carefully.

He could have remained hidden in the guest room until he felt “ready” to explain a thing or two to Ike, but not only would he suffer from the drain of inactivity, but he needed material to focus on so he wouldn’t drown in the mental anguish of his unveiled past. He also had pressing concerns about his new form and a thirst for whatever information he could tap into, either from the boundless resources shelved in the library or from Ninian herself, though what she had to offer might be limited by their differences. She was a manakete from a distant world, and he was not.

He needed to know more about dragonstones.

He thought he knew enough about laguz, too, and during the Mad King’s War, he’d had growing anxieties about his heritage, lucky access to the exclusive archives within Mainal Cathedral, and scores of ancient tomes to pore over on the subject of the branded. As he traversed the empty corridors, it was like time was echoing back at him, sweeping him away from Askr and through the vaulted aisles and arcades grand enough to mirror the heavens and taunt anyone for their smallness, like all Sainted residences and assembly points in Sienne. Could he grow wings and scales and bring them down pillar by pillar, too, now? In other worlds, dragons were revered as gods themselves. 

His soles drummed soft echoes into the walls no matter how lightly he tread, but he slowed them when another rhythm of boots swallowed his up: quicker, heavier, more insistent, driven. They were approaching from ahead, from behind a corner. His pulse stole the thunder from his footsteps and he dove into the nearest hiding place he could use — a stairwell he passed several paces ago. 

How nerve-wracking. The footsteps hastened, and Soren quickly thought better than to scale the stairs in case his pursuer caught sight of him, so he slid behind the door and waited. As he feared, the owner of the purposeful footsteps veered into the domain of his hasty hiding spot, and just when Soren began preparing excuses to be wedged between the wall and the door in case he noticed the curious absence of stair-pounding, he just kept on going up the steps as though Soren never stopped.

What a relief. He must have spotted him after all and was left with the illusion that he was still after him. Soren listened carefully to the resounding tap of Ike’s chase for the best opportunity to bolt back on his jaunt to the library, but then, “Ike” started yelling.

“Was that you, Eliwood? You can’t fool me, you sneaky knave! I knew you were still up! You’ll worry yourself into another sickbed if you don’t leave Ninian to her own devices!”

All along, he had mistaken Hector for Ike. Go figure. And that made at least two people on a hunt for Ninian. Hector, pursuing Eliwood who was pursuing Ninian, who harbored her concerns with Soren. He was looking for her, too. Was everyone on a mad pursuit tonight? 

Just when he thought the coast was clear, another set of persistent footsteps approached the stairwell. “Hector!” barked the next stalker. “You think you can get away with insulting me to my face?! Do all Ostians spit and run as you do?” Stomp, stomp, stomp. “Answer me!”

…In only about three seconds...

“...Lord Raven, wait! I thought we were over this…!”

…..Predictable. His vassal fretted after him, up the stairs, which were suddenly popular tonight all because he thought Hector’s footsteps sounded an awful lot like Ike’s. And then, another voice staggered after the monk’s, its low, predatory edge somewhat blunted by weariness.

“Lucius… I tire, but… I cannot sleep.”

“Karel, I must apologize, but I have my hands full right now! Surely there must be another way to lull you...”

“Who are you talking to back there, Lucius?!”

“Oh, _now_ you pay attention to me?!” His footsteps picked right back up.

Karel followed after the procession in spite of Lucius’s rejection. “...Heh… I wonder what’s got them all worked up. Do I smell a feast…? Perhaps I shall whet my blade instead.”

Soren couldn’t help but wonder what woodwork all of these Heroes had been hiding in, and the levels of ridiculous that kept mounting with each person, when Karla’s voice rang softly through the stairwell.

“Brother… Did I hear you right? ...I finally find you, and you’re already unsheathing your sword for another fight…” She sighed, and ascended after him. “When will you ever put it to rest?”

The World of Blazing was on fire at this godsforsaken hour. Perhaps he should retire back to his temporary room sooner rather than later and spare Ninian some unnecessary wandering, because this lot was a ripe handful and Eliwood was on worry patrol. He might be able to wheedle his affairs out of her, and he would prefer to avoid the awkwardness of his information being made known to him that way.

“Karla, he’s too far gone right now!” boomed Bartre, significantly louder than any of the other fools who climbed the stairway. “Give it a break! I keep telling you he’ll simmer down with the years! Why you’re up supervising him at a time like this is beyond me!”

“Father, wait! Where are you going?”

“Fir?! What are YOU doing up at a time like this?!”

“I… Oh, it’s nothing!”

It seemed to Soren that Bartre had paused his advance (much to his irritation). “Anything concerning you is no small matter to me. C’mon! You can tell your old man anything. Is it nightmares?”

Fir never replied, but a hot tension filled the air.

“...Say no more! Hey, why don’t we wrangle your poor mother first and make this a family affair? We can talk about them together!”

The young swordswoman groaned, almost a shriek in her palpable embarrassment. “You don’t have to go _that_ far! But… ...I’ll help you chase Mother down.” 

Bartre laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit! Now pick up your feet; she’s getting away!”

Both sets of legs clamored up the staircase, growing further and further away. Soren thought the idiocy parade would never end. The space above him had morphed into a thundercloud of distant activity, but nobody else joined in. He emerged from the space behind the door only to find Micaiah, her approach soft as snow in comparison. He choked down a gasp and only scarcely managed not to jump backwards.

“You…!”

“Soren…” Her surprise washed away to expose the same brand of sympathy she wore for him when they crossed paths earlier. “I’m so glad to have found you.” In a quieter voice and a solemn mien, she added, “I have something to discuss with you.”

His first instinct was to resist, and he wished he weren’t so cornered against the wall, door, and stairs, though he had few qualms with simply shoving past her if her anticipated string of inquiries heckled him too much. He glared at her coldly and unwavering, wrinkling his face a little in reluctance.

“Please step aside. You are in my way.”

Her expression hardened. “...No. I may be among the last people you want to talk to, but at least let me impart my warnings to you.”

“Warnings.”

“The sooner you open up to Ike about this, the better. As a matter of fact, I recommend doing so come morning, if not tonight. I… understand your feelings of reluctance, but... I think you will discover that your fears are unfounded.”

Touching upon his fears without invitation brushed him the wrong way, and he shoved past her. “Don’t be presumptuous about what I am going through! As though _you_ could have any perception, a single taste of my...”

She hooked him by the sleeve and hindered his escape. “He’s still looking for you, you know.”

He yanked back, but she did not let him go, so he tried harder and won success. “I am being reminded at every turn, thank you.”

Her expression tugged in empathetic desperation. “Do you _want_ to prolong his unnecessary grief? I know how his feelings run for you, and I know that deep down, you know it, too.” 

“Stop prying and mind your own affairs!”At this juncture, he whirled around to leave with a swift gait. Micaiah, in turn, threw her hand out as though it might stop him, but she knew her pleas had run their course. The only hope she had left was to finalize her message. 

“You may accuse me of that, but I’m only doing it for your own good!” Though she couldn’t keep up with him, she trailed after him, picking her voice up so he wouldn’t miss a single word. “Please, just… Even if you don’t trust me, at least heed my words! If you do, a catastrophic misunderstanding can be avoided! You’ll be hurt!”

He made no reply, forging ahead to leave her behind, not once turning back. She had given up her pursuit of him. However, her words did manage to plant themselves into his brain.

As he stole across the remaining distance to the library, he glossed over her advice with more sober consideration, now that his reactivity had cooled. It stood to reason that with her gift of insight not only to the emotions of others, but of future events, that he ought to pay mind to her omen. What it was he should beware of she never admitted, but also because he wouldn’t spare her the time of night. If it were really so catastrophic and not an exaggeration, and she truly cared for what happened to him, then she would have been more direct. Besides, as Queen of Daein, this tidbit of knowledge should have demonstrated what sort of threat he stood as between her and her throne. In Askr, it wouldn’t matter so much, but to return home with that in mind…

Perhaps he was overblowing it at this point.

Why should he care that she could peer into his heart? That she claimed understanding? Why did he deflect her attempts to connect with him on a level that, realistically speaking, few others could?

His own feelings, again, eluded him. But he could not entirely dismiss her concerns. She was right. It nettled him, but she was right. He knew he had to come clean to Ike sooner or later, and he _did_ want desperately to believe that Ike wouldn’t turn away from him for his distorted identity. That he wasn’t that kind of person. Because he wasn’t. And yet...

A distinct feeling overcame him the nearer he got to the library, one that washed his blood into a searing, pulsing chill and, like never before, an accompanying note of ragged exhaustion. Dragonstones. He slowed his pace with hesitance. If he were to encounter another one of those gems a second time, there was no telling what might occur, and he didn’t want to risk a second ungodly transformation and structural damage to a crucial portion of the castle. That would also be the worst way to reveal his origins to Ike.

“Oh, there you are. Rough night, huh?”

Niles’s voice crept in from above, and Soren spun about to face him suspiciously. The reformed outlaw chuckled at his split-second reflexive maneuver from the high windowsill he made his perch. Tremors of panic swept through his heart, but he stood his ground wary as a sentinel in the midst of a siege.

“...What is your business this time?” he verged on snapping, though he tried to feign a self-possession he didn’t possess.

Niles peered at him through the intimate veil of torchlit darkness, canting his head like a cat would curl its tail. “Oh, _relax_. Do I really make you so uptight? You’re clenching in places I never thought possible until you showed up.”

Soren’s face fell flatter, his thin eyebrows pointing down in disapproval. “Does it look like I’m up for passing quips back and forth? I asked for your business, not your game.”

“With me, it’s hard to tell the difference, sometimes.” He swerved out of his recline and hunched over the edge, like Soren had requested audience and he was on his throne, though the austerity of such a comparison was absent with his puckish flair. He dangled the source of the mage’s discomfort over the ledge, letting it sway to its content. “The castle’s been pretty lively, though, wouldn’t you say?”

Soren hated indulging in conversations that were executed in meandering pirouettes, but Niles clearly loved to spin them like tops and watch them twirl until they were spent. It almost felt like he had grabbed him by the nerves, strung them taut, and plucked at them to see what tune they would play. But he couldn’t leave, either. Not when he couldn’t understand his motivations, the one person he could guarantee as witness to his identity as the draconic menace everyone was going wild about.

“And have you contributed?” he asked.

“And ruin the fun? So soon? ...By the way, I’ve been wondering. How long have you been keeping this a secret from everyone?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“In other words, ‘why should I tell you’? How cold. It’s no wonder you have only one friend. Does he know, by the way?”

Give any moment, and Ike could be rounding a corner into his line of sight. The occasional ruckus from the blazing nightwalkers stuck in various binds muddled things. Soren’s impatience with Niles flared up again and he said, “I can’t afford the time to be striking up deep conversations with you about the details of my personal relationships, much less my secrets. I must go.” He turned to leave. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“It would be a simple order for me just to tell him for you, you know.”

Soren froze.

“Ah! I see… So I’m privy to something quite classified, aren’t I?” The satisfaction in his grin made him want to blow Niles out the window. He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“You will do no such thing.”

“Are you going to stop me? Maybe I just don’t see what the big deal is,” he replied with a shrug. “You’re a tactician, right? So you should be able to figure out that it’s in your best interest to fess up and clear the fog of confusion surrounding this whole monster mystery. Is there something to be ashamed of?”

“Why must you keep pestering me about this?!” cried Soren, growing more exasperated by the moment, and the miasma of dragonstones in his vicinity was not helping matters any. “I can’t even begin to fathom why you care so much. We’re allies at most, strangers otherwise.”

“Don’t get me wrong. Call it curiosity, then. I’m curious about another member of the Order of Heroes and his unknown ability to turn into a dragon. Is that a crime?”

He shook his head, finally allowed himself to close his eyes for longer than a blink. “I don’t see how it benefits you to understand me at this level.”

“Well, if you have to think of it in terms of benefits, maybe I like acquiring information on people. How’s that?”

If he left him to his own devices, he might tell Ike before he was ready for him to. This was something he intended to do on his own accord, if he could help it. What harm would there be in relaying some of his history to him? Most of it would only be detrimental in most places on Tellius. His haste to leave and the pulse of the stones pushed him to act.

“Fine. I’ll indulge you, but I’ll make it quick.” He breathed in and let out the air in one huff. “But you won’t betray a word of this to Ike.”

“Not if you spare me these details, I won’t.”

“It was a secret, even to me. I was unaware that I harbored dragon blood within me. Laguz blood, yes, but because I had been abandoned by my… _worthless_ parents before I could form memories, I never knew anything of where I came from. Does that satisfy your criminal curiosity?”

Niles laughed, a little from Soren’s wordplay, a little from the pleasure of having squeezed the information from the tight-lipped tactician, and a little from discovering a kernel of the hardships he must have faced as a cast-away child. “Yes, yes. I long for you to continue, actually. This sounds fascinating.”

Soren sighed through his nose, unable to comprehend his fascination as his heartbeat raced. “The only clue I have is the mark on my forehead. Ike is… the only one I have told about my wretched past. Fully. But not even he knows my parents. I do now, and I hesitate to tell him. So don’t do me the honors. This won’t be a secret for much longer. May I go, now?”

“One more thing: my business.”

The wind mage quirked an eyebrow in irritated disbelief. “You had business?” All along?

He held up the pouch of shiny rocks. Soren flinched, Niles smirked, and Soren frowned. “I never did find out who this belonged to.”

Niles presented him with an opportunity that aligned with his new goals. It bothered him to be so… needlessly _afraid_ of even coming into contact with a dragonstone in case he underwent yet another dramatic and unexpected transformation. Not only had it been a little traumatic, but if he couldn’t control himself, that would pose many problems for him, especially right now. However, he couldn’t touch them, and even if the barrier of cloth separated him from the stones, he didn’t want to risk even that removed level of contact being enough to trigger it. He thought to lie to Niles and direct them to Ninian so he could ask her to help him with them later, but that plan wouldn’t work if Ninian refused them. He had to come up with another way to circumvent directly transporting one.

“Actually, I have a request. If you don’t mind…”  


* * *

  
When Ninian returned to his interim abode, she slackened as though a puppeteer had dropped his act.

“You’re here after all...”

“Sorry if my absence concerned you.” He was perched on his knees at the low table where his provisions had been set for him last night, the dishware pushed aside in lieu of reading materials. The candle had been snuffed and traded for the fresh sunlight of early dawn. Seeing him settled into a kind of easy rhythm encouraged a smile on Ninian’s lips.

“It was no trouble. I… er, had a small encounter…”

“With Eliwood?” He glanced up from the passage he was absorbing to watch her eyes widen.

“How did you know?”

“It’s not important. To summarize, Hector was screaming about it from the tops of his lungs as he gave chase to a figment of his imagination. He was hypocritically suggesting that he stop worrying and go to bed. I doubt that he ever found him very soon.”

She giggled at the thought. “That’s just like him. Lord Eliwood is sensitive, so he picked up on my change in behavior as odd. I reassured him otherwise, so you have nothing to fear.” With her smile now reaching her eyes, she kneeled down to Soren’s level across the table, resting her arms on the surface as she studied him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He sent his focus to the corner of the room, then down to his papers. “But right now, I have a predominating concern. I was wondering if you had any insight for me.”

“With… dragonstones?”

“Yes.” It was no oracle that she deduced this with, but the lines of words and drawings exposed on the pages of his research portended his thought processes. “No matter how much I pore over the subject, I never acquire the precise kind of understanding that comes with personal experience. In short: how do you activate your transformation on your own terms?”

Ninian seemed to turn inward, trawling for a way to describe something she never had to. “It’s… It’s like a quick thought process… An exchange of energy.”

Soren tried to parse this, but met with trouble molding the vagueness of her description into something a little more concrete that he could use to assist himself. “So you… absorb it?” She nodded.

“Yes. I invite the energy into my body and unlock my true form.”

He vented a steady, quiet stream of air through his nostrils. “...I wish this helped more, but I still don’t quite understand. You see, I am not having problems activating it. I’m more concerned that I don’t have control over the activation. When I touched it, my draconic form emerged unbidden. I want to try and ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Ah.” She frowned. “I have never had that problem. But I can understand the uneasiness that would bring.”

“It seems like something I must learn with experience. Books won’t teach me this.”

“Books didn’t teach me, either. They never taught my younger brother, and the thought that a dragon would ever need to learn how to use a dragonstone by reading a book about it strikes me as somewhat… absurd.”

She wasn’t trying to rub it in or anything, but she tinged his cheeks with a dusting of pink shame regardless. He glared at empty space on the sheet and proceeded with his request. “That is why I was wondering if… you wouldn’t be opposed to guided practice.”

“You want me to try and show you how to use it?”

“If you would be so kind. I won’t ask you to do it for free, if you can name a favor or a price. But we must do so far away from here. I… would rather not transform anywhere near the castle.” Especially not where Ike could see. Explaining to him would be much less mortifying than showing him. “Will you help me?”

She nodded, once at first, then twice in succession. “I will do what I can. I don’t need a price. If it helps you acclimate to yourself, I won’t hesitate. I did offer my consultation, did I not?”

“...It is difficult for me to understand your motivations. Especially for someone you scarcely bothered with before,” he admitted a second time, unfocused on anything save the course of his own thoughts. “You claim you feel some… affinity for me. One like family. But I fail to relate, so I seek ulterior motives lurking within you.”

“If... you were in my position, and you saw another who was at an utter loss with himself… and you felt that, in that moment, you were the only one who could help him… Would you not feel a strong desire to do so?”

It was rare for Soren to feel bad while admitting his moral failings, but he shook his head slowly, guilt welling up where it usually never did. “I would not. And that is where the gap in my understanding you resides.”

“Your friend… Your commander,” Ninian brought up, pivoting their conversation suddenly enough for Soren to raise his head at her. “His heart feels pure.” She rested her palm to hers in a gentle, reverent motion. “I have heard he is a good person worthy of his status as a beloved hero. Do you… fail to understand him, as well?”

She caught him a little off-guard there, and he stared at her unblinkingly while he considered his stance on the only person he could ever surrender his full trust to, the essence of a man he had thoroughly calculated down to the last twitch and what volumes each one revealed about his status, his feelings, his intents. They had fought and survived together, saved their world together, laughed and even cried together, and he had come to understand him well enough that he can predict his replies to things with startling accuracy. All of this, and yet he doubted his acceptance of him when, upon appraising his personality and how it contested against all the times he thought he might surely abandon his tactician at last, his heart was big enough to welcome him even though he harbored King Ashnard’s putrid blood? The revelation would still be disturbing to him, but he would never forsake their bond for something so comparatively trivial.

_Why should I give two figs who your parents are?”_

That was the kind of man Ike was.

How could he understand him so well, and yet sometimes, not at all? He would not hesitate to help someone in need, even at his own detriment. It was the only reason he, the wasted child in the hollow of the tree, yet lived. He admired the quality that made him shine so brilliantly, but here he was, shunning it as incomprehensible.

Perhaps it was. But perhaps, it was something he craved to understand all along. Not by analyzing others, but deciphering it within himself. Something to be experienced, not read. Ninian smiled patiently, and he rummaged for a satisfactory answer to give.

“That is a difficult question for me. Would it suffice to say that, when it comes to matters of the heart I frequently contradict myself?”

“Most do, Soren.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. After a contemplative beat, he said, “You brought him up for a reason.”

“If you understand him, then perhaps you can understand why my desire to help you needs nothing in return?”

“At a distance, yes. Personally, no.” He untied his legs from crossing and rose to his full height, pointing his body toward the corner of the room, at a miniature chest with two small drawers. “I acquired some assistance in transporting it here, but there is a dragonstone for me to use in the top drawer over there.”

“Is that what you left for?”

“Unintentionally. But when the opportunity arose, I decided to take it in case there were no easier alternatives.” He cast his eyes out the window, away from Ninian. “It’s… the same one that was sprung upon me the last time.”

Ninian gawked. “I was wondering where your stone went. You mean it didn’t… go with you?”

“I guess not. As far as I have come to understand, manakete-stone compatibility varies between worlds. Some may only use one stone unique to them. Some manaketes are compatible with most stones, particularly in the nexus-like embrace of Zenith, but we must continue to bear in mind that I am no normal manakete. I’m a lagu—” 

That he so complacently, accidentally determined himself in such a manner shook him. It felt so wrong, so weird that he subconsciously identified with a race of people he once vehemently despised, and he quickly exchanged that falsehood with the truth. “A branded. Halfway in between laguz and beorc.”

“I… see.” She left the tableside and headed for the dragonstone’s hiding place. “It doesn’t hurt to take precautions, I suppose. We could even experiment with my stone, if you wanted to.”

“At this point, I’m willing to experiment with anything as long as I can figure out how to rein this in. ...Are you free today?”

She clutched the stone to her, admiring its glossy, twinkling beauty before doing so. “I am. First of all, let me make preparations. Then, I will return to you.” The dancer moved across the room for the exit, but paused midway through to ask him a question out of the blue. “...Do you have any, um, culinary preferences?”

“Not in particular.” Oh, she must be considering his breakfast. Was the dragonstone making him feel comfortably warm? Perhaps inuring himself to its constant presence had made it more manageable, after all. “I’ve never been choosy.”

“I will figure something out.” Her smile morphed to accommodate a touch of regret. “...I would bring you a fresh change of clothes, but I should not trespass into your quarters. If I were caught…”

“That would certainly raise suspicions. This is something I ought to take care of myself. Besides, you’re already doing more than enough.” A slight smirk wormed its way onto his features. “I asked for assistance, not an older sister.”

The lightness twinkling on her features melted, cast down into abrupt despondence. The regret of her transparent smile advanced to a keen, deeply felt grief. What had he done? But just before he ascertained the meaning of it, she hummed softly, a placeholder for her pending response.

“But that is what older sisters do. ...I will be back shortly.”

She performed her perfunctory survey of the passage before shutting the door behind her softly. He was not her younger brother, but she did mention having one. Her profound upwelling of sorrow made perfect sense, and so did her reasons for wanting so desperately to help him.

It didn’t impress him all that much, this kin-based desire to help those who were like one of your own. It reminded him of the baser aspects of human nature: love your own, but shun and despise those who could not be understood, and therefore not trusted. The Other. Fighting against the Other fortified the bonds that tied their in-group together. They did not belong anywhere at their table nor fit into the familiar puzzle of the beloved landscape of their life they put together each day. Ostracized, they were little more than beasts, or worse: spawn of hell. Soren tasted this long-standing bitterness in a sentiment that should have been sweet.

But he had grown a little since the days that unsavory tang filled his mouth unbearably, and he knew better than to discount her generosity so haphazardly. His recent volatility really hearkened back to days before the Mad King’s War’s conclusion, didn’t they? A time when his position in the world had been insecure, the fundamentals of his own identity muddled, fluctuating, ever-changing. This tectonic shift had not ended then; it continued pulling his understanding of himself apart and rearranging it back together in a way that fitted uncomfortably. He could use some adjustments.

He thought, then, that he might be able to handle his inevitable encounter with Ike. But the aftertaste of bitterness rawed at him inside, and, reluctant to endure cataclysmic, soul-rendering pain that his better judgment insisted would not happen, his weakened psyche insisted that such a rejection would never be more unbearable than now. He continued to put it off.

After he gained some security in harnessing his own power, perhaps. Perhaps having confronted it in some tangible way, he could deal with Ike, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Lucius really need to stay out of my fics.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow the holiday season is killing me. two jobs are killin me. r.i.p. how am i alive

“ _You_ can’t find Soren, either?”

Kiran shook their head, pursing their lips into a tight line as they stroked their magical tablet with one finger. Ike sighed from the bottom of his lungs, tired of having reasons to worry.

“I guess we won’t be scouting on the same team, then. ...Blast! If he would just… I dunno, leave a note?” He turned halfway to indicate his leave. “Well, I’ll be off, then. Just let me know what you need me to do, and it’ll be done.”

He had to douse his flaring frustrations during that exchange. When Soren never showed up, he had been a little astonished, a little curious, soon worried, and now, for how long Soren stayed missing even when confirmed for having made it back to the castle, his anxieties had been slow-cooked to a saucy resentment that bubbled beneath his levelheaded surface. After going through lengthy patrols to locate his partner, he threw up his arms and decided that Soren would come to him when he was good and ready. Whenever that would be. Why he wouldn’t so much as retire to his own bedroom after dark was a mystery. He checked his usual late-night retreats when he never showed up for bed, and still none of them yielded his presence.

Oh, he’d get an earful from him, for sure. Ike had faith that whatever reason Soren had for laying low, it must be for a good one. Given that he had possibly borne witness to the black dragon that was the talk of the town, his prolonged absence proved inconvenient when everyone wanted to ask him questions. 

In the meantime, he needed to focus on the investigation he was assigned to, get ready to find his appointed teammates and be transported to the area the commander designated for him. This was a pretty big deal, after all: a Goldoan in the World of Zenith, under Embla’s command? Yikes. If the mysterious dragon turned out to be Kurthnaga, Ike hoped that he was faring well under his circumstances, especially considering his sensitivities to gruesome scenes like battlefields blooming with blood. Not that he had to be babied and cushioned excessively, but he hated to think of sweet-tempered Kurthnaga doing someone’s bidding against his will, like many iterations of Heroes they had encountered in past skirmishes.

To quell local anxieties, Commander Anna, Princess Sharena, and Prince Alfonse delegated Kiran to forming teams of Heroes in strategic points across Askr, both where civilians would desire the most protection and in areas a massive dragon might hide, or along Embla’s border in case they made any movements. There were approximately sixteen squads dispersed, and Ike requested his party to be one more for function than a show for the sake of placation, because he wanted to get to the bottom of this more than most.

Knowing Kurthnaga might be out there got him to thinking about him more. About Goldoa, about its royal family’s hardships and the country’s future. At least, how he left it, anyway, after the defeat of Ashera and the restoration of Tellius. When he first met the dragon prince on Goldoa’s shore, ship run aground and desperate for help, it had been at a time when he was greener and hadn’t seen as much of his world as he had by the time he’d been summoned to the Order. He’d been waging battles in his heart between laguz and beorc without understanding why there had to be a fight in the first place. How people colored things in either black or white without etching in the fine details of circumstance or motivation, ignoring the beauty of the in-betweens to make the individual easier to despise. That way, they could remain comfortable living their simple lives under the same hood as usual. It had disturbed him greatly to see ordinary, respectable people bludgeon someone as kind and friendly as Ranulf just because they spotted his ears. And then, the crows of Kilvas moved to plunder them, dubbing them ‘humans’ with mischievous contempt smeared across their faces. But shortly afterward, Kurthnaga extended cordial accommodation without expecting anything in return. 

Thinking back on his adventures, that moment was a thick, meaningful stroke across the canvas that helped paint his developing view of people. It further demonstrated that no matter what was said about a person based on where they come from, what they look like, or who they associate with, what truly shone through it all was that a person, deep down, was a person, and people should always strive to help each other out when they are able. Years later, he became surprised to learn that he had been the first beorc Kurthnaga had ever met. What further shocked him was to learn of their family’s tragedy, and how it all blended in with his history with Daein and the war itself.

Rajaion’s end had been a heartrending one, but at least he was able to be restored to his wits and reunited with his betrothed in his dying moments. All along, Ike assumed that King Ashnard’s mount was just a great big wyvern, so his transformation took everyone who didn’t know better off-guard. To learn that Rajaion had been lured into poison by that despicable blackheart who would hold his own son hostage to destroy the mind and dignity of his mistress’s brother, his son’s uncle, his _family_ just to own an imposing mount, one of Goldoa’s noble dragons, for his perverse glee… It made him glad to have killed the disgrace of a man all over again. While he might be capable of understanding how someone could come to hate and fear out of ignorance, he could never comprehend how anyone could slay, humiliate, or dispose of their own kin for personal gain, without a scrap of remorse. Ike supposed there must be nothing left of humanity in a person who could do that. Ashnard was the type of person he hoped to never understand.

How was Ena managing amid her fresh grief, even fresher to the perspective of a long-living laguz? When would her child be born, and would it ease some of the pain she swallowed from her loss? And Lady Almedha… Having come to terms with her childlessness, would she continue to bitterly lament her existence, or be able to move on? Would her younger brother continue to extend comfort to her in her trying times? What of her real child’s fate those two decades ago, separated from his mother, used as bait, and thrown out like worthless waste? Had he even survived? It would be a miracle if he did. He would be about his age right about now, wouldn’t he? It would be another miracle for this child to learn of his parents.

It had been a privilege to lend an ear to Kurthnaga’s deepest troubles. That was when their bond truly became cemented as not only allies in the war against the goddess, but as friends. He hoped he could at least spare Kurth of any unnecessary fighting, even if it meant he needed to sever the contract with one clean blow. 

  


* * *

  


Askr’s piked, majestic castle towers pierced the fractured clouds that tended to nestle it in heavenly shrouds, built on high ground as it was. It resembled an elysian domain even more when viewed from a distance. Compared to the likes of Windmire, or much of dusky Nohr itself, its sunny splendor was like squinting into direct sunlight for the young Nohrian prince. Castle Shirasagi shone bright and bountiful in his memories, perched above its capital like much of Askr, but the precipitous descent of the escarpment it rested upon segregated it from the life below. Perhaps out of a stubborn pride for his country, Leo would profess that Nohr was entitled to its own class of sober, striking beauty, but he could not help but quietly admire a vibrant, luminous vista like the one spread out before him as he advanced up the trails carved into the cliffside with his modest search party.

Though half of them rode on horseback, they advanced up the slopes, anyway. No matter where one hails from, nobody denies the sacred tranquility of a mountain. The purity of the air, how it encroaches upon the firmament… Why, it might be touched by the divine, the host to mythical beasts. Folklore frequently placed it as an abode for dragons, and wyverns loved to retreat to the craggy, cave-filled cliffs. It helped that one member of their group scaled their surroundings on the back of one, offering them a greater collective visibility.

Once she made her rounds, she would swoop in and relay that she had discovered nothing of the dragon reported to have been sighted in the area. That did not deter them, however, because there was a vast network of spacious caverns known as Gandvik, where dragons and serpentine superstitions were said to dwell in ancient times. 

“Those dragons from Tellius don’t degenerate,” marveled Corrin on Elise’s horse. “That means they can stay in that form for as long as they want, and they don’t need to worry about eventually going mad.”

“As long as their stamina remains,” corrected Leo. “Shifting supposedly saps them of energy.”

“Well, being a dragon can be pretty exhausting, you know,” she laughed. “But most of the other dragons — the manaketes — also store their power in stones to avoid losing control. I was starting to think it was a universal property of dragonkind.”

“I only began more thorough research on laguz last night, so my understanding of them is still rudimentary. But I think they are quite different from the draconic races of other worlds. They are more akin to Wolfskin or Kitsune than, say… the First Dragons. Less godlike. Less legendary. But still powerful.”

“I see…”

“And they _can_ lose control,” added Leo, thumbing the pages of his tome as he relayed his information. “If members of the dragon tribe are enraged, they will go on a senseless, violent rampage. And because they are so powerful, it’s something to be feared.” He settled his eyes on his draconic sibling warily, knowing how the meaning of his explanation might resound in her. However, it was the truth, and she had to accept it. “Their country even went so far as to adopt a staunch policy of isolationism to protect others from their latent potential for mass destruction. They feared laying the entire continent to rubble.”

Corrin shuddered as she recalled the first time her senses unraveled into those of a beast, blinded by a fury proportions too large to be contained inside her human body. “So they _do_ need to worry about going mad…”

“In a way of their own. But they don’t use stones to contain a part of themselves.” The wyvern’s wingbeats punctured the air in a steady rhythm as it hovered beside their path. Leo turned to its rider. “How was your survey?”

“I’m noticing modest pockets of Embla activity up ahead,” reported Camilla.

“Is that all? We can take ‘em, no sweat!” cheered Elise.

“But we should still proceed with some due caution,” advised Corrin, her solemn advice glinting with good spirits thanks to Elise’s bright confidence. “What were they doing?”

“They’re on the other side of this slope, at the base of it,” continued the eldest princess. “Due to their numbers and organization, it doesn’t appear as though they are advancing upon Askr with the intent to carry out an attack of any significant scale. They were partially obscured by forest, so it was difficult to observe them, but they have a scattered force of pegasus knights circling the skies. It’s almost as though they are looking for something.”

“What could they be up to…” muttered Corrin. “They don’t have the dragon with them, do they?”

“Mmm… Hard to tell, from what I could see.” Camilla smiled fondly at her younger sibling. “A big dragon could easily put on a cute little disguise. Either way, I wager they’ve already gotten an eyeful of me,” she admitted. “If they are up to no good, then we must be sneaky. It would do no good to run into them with our meager search party.”

“We should secure reinforcements,” suggested Leo. “I know we have a couple of other parties nearby to rally with. One is headed by Ike, so we’re in good form when it comes to our worst-case scenario.”

“Queen Elincia is in charge of her own little group, isn’t she?” Camilla asked. “I saw her, too. She must be alerting her own team, and, well… interestingly enough, I spotted your retainers hustling up the mountainside before I turned tail.” She let out an amused chuckle through her nose. “Poor dears. They were working up quite the sweat.”

Leo’s face screwed up at the sudden, perplexing veer of information. “Why are you telling me this? Were they assigned to a team...?”

“Who knows? Maybe they’re rushing to your side, worried sick about you,” she teased. “How dedicated. I’m a little jealous...”

“Well, they should know I can take care of myself,” he replied, hoping to sound matter-of-fact when a peek of resentful petulance bore through. Elise giggled at the thought, and Corrin sighed with a smile.

“It won’t hurt to have more numbers.”

“I shall relay the information to the other teams in the area,” volunteered Camilla with a slight tug on her wyvern’’s reins to spur it to heed her next directions. “Perhaps Princess Sharena and Prince—”

Her word were engulfed by an erupting bellow, like the mountain itself had discharged a monstrous wail. It snapped the Nohrian attention in every direction.

“Wh-What was that?!” wondered Elise with a round, popped expression. 

Camilla narrowed her eyes in critical thought. “That cry did not belong to any wyvern of these peaks.” Hers canted its head with an inquisitive, fearful shine in its burning eyes, its mandible unhinged as it sought the far side of the mountain. “...Or maybe I should head back for another survey, first? I think we might just discover why Embla is acting so strangely.”

“That’s just perfect,” muttered Leo. “Of course they wouldn’t need numbers if they planned on using a dragon. They might be concealing the real force of their charge within the vast caves.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s hurry and find it!” insisted Corrin.

  


* * *

  


_“It’s no good… No matter how hard I focus on ‘letting go’, it just doesn’t work.”_

Soren stared holes into the stone that he clutched in his too-big claws with urgent disdain, swishing his long, spike-pronged tail in idle, impatient sweeps, snagging craggy debris in its wake and releasing it in a cycle almost therapeutic. Ninian frowned up at him, covering her own stone with her palms and thinning her lips as she probed the depths of her mind for solutions with growing anxiousness eating at the edges of her mind.

“Your power is… something you can feel,” she tried, fastening her fist to her heart with a gentle thud. “Perhaps, if you try focusing on yourself, on your body, you will be able to recognize its flow.”

 _”But what if that doesn’t work?”_ he protested. _“You expect ‘thinking’ about my power to turn the key? Well, it hasn’t worked so far.”_

“Do not panic, Soren. You must calm down if this is to work.”

“ _I am about as calm as someone stuck in the goliath body of a dragon can be,_ ” he growled snappishly, feeling his throat tickle hotly. _“The last thing I want is for this to be prolonged indefinitely.”_

The half-dragon pair had stolen away from the castle when the dew still clung to the grass. Now the afternoon sun leered at them, hiding intermittently behind swathes of dark, transpiring clouds. They settled in the foothills of the western mountain range, away from Embla’s border, away from civilization and close to geographical features as large as their bodies could grow. Soren’s, unfortunately, would not shrink back down. Rather than spend time figuring out how to activate the stone’s power on his own accord, he now had to solve the problem of _de_ -activating it, which, according to Ninian, sounded like an intuitive process, but did not lend itself that way to Soren.

Ninian glanced about anxiously, then raised her hands as though the gesture alone might soothe his bundling nerves. “T-Try setting it down, then,” she rushed to suggest.

He let it slip from his talon-like fingers. It pelted the earth, bounced, snatched light, then remained a pretty heap between them. Soren waited, tried delving into himself, tried stepping away from the gem, tried closing his eyes to assist in the mental matter, thought of himself as a young man scarcely over five feet tall, but he was still as draconic as ever when he opened his rubescent, monochromatic eyes. That was the point of the experiment, but he felt so dreadfully uncomfortable in his own skin that his impatience began to override his thought processes. He snorted in disdain, unexpectedly loudly, serving to embarrass him. He twisted his neck around, crossing his arms, re-adjusting them around the flared-out fins that now decorated them.

 _”Must I exhaust myself like last time in order to return to normal?”_ The moment he transformed back the first time eluded him, as he was so utterly possessed by the shocked agony raging through him that it robbed him of the faculties he valued most about himself. Ninian seemed his best bet when it came to guided help, but increasingly he began to wish the magical summoning technology of this world didn’t discriminate against laguz for some inexplicable reason. It would be nice if he could receive coaching from someone who shifted like one. Ranulf might not have been such a bad teacher, even though Soren could expect a bit of playful jabs at his expense. As annoying as that might prove, it wouldn’t be so bad a payment in exchange for the greater potential to harness his powers. Why, he might even be desperate enough to suffer through lessons with _Skrimir_ if the opportunity was presented to him.

A wyvern’s movement snagged his attention as it circled the skies above, but when he pinpointed the shape of its body and the graceful form of its feathered flight, he realized it wasn’t a wyvern at all. A dark pegasus. Honing in on it, he detected a rider on its back.

“Soren, we… We can’t stay here,” she asserted with cold gravity, her dread permeating as she glanced up beyond the sloping earth of their gentle, rocky pit, unable to see anything save for the flock of trees and distant, rolling hills with towering cliff faces. “I feel that we are not safe here for much longer…”

Ninian’s premonition lined up with Micaiah’s cryptic augury. Could this be the same incident she portended? If he hadn’t brushed her off as a nuisance, maybe he could have garnered more insight as to what precisely he should be so afraid of. Maybe he never took her quite as seriously as he should have? She was a pest to him, and he wanted to tell Ike on his own time. Apparently, it was more of an urgent matter than he thought. Though he knew to regard the unknown situation with a proper amount of seriousness, irritation wedged itself beneath his scales instead.

“ _Such an inconvenient time..._ ” He craned his neck around in various directions to make visual confirmation of other human life forms, but saw nothing. However, he could… _feel_ something shift in the atmosphere. It was a curious feeling, mingling with the strange, ripe acuity of heightened senses. A metallic scent quietly tarnished the pristine mountain air. _“Armor? Weapons…?”_ he surmised.

“We will be confronted. We still have time to flee, but....” She whirled around to vacate the area, hitching up her skirts a ways to allow more freedom for her legs to move. “This way!” 

Soren cursed his unfamiliar body a second time as he dragged it across the terrain, on two legs this time. He also cursed how flying did not come so naturally, and how he felt laughably more vulnerable in the enormous form of dragon laguz royalty than he did in his compact little human body, armored not in tough, leathery plates, but silky robes, instead. His ungainliness slowed him down tremendously, and he felt as though the world could watch him.

“ _Wonderful!_ ” he cried in the scintillating mood these circumstances put him in. Was it really his best idea to go out into the wilderness and test his compatibility with dragonstones, knowing the risks? Should he have ever anticipated that he might be unable to undo his transformation? Or maybe he relied too much on her purported gift for sensing danger that she had reassured him of? For now, he had to continue relying on it if he wanted to escape this fate that awaited them.

As he heaved his reptilian mass across the landscape, he sucked in his breaths through his nose, sampling the scent of iron and steel with a note of private fascination at how he possessed that innate capability now; it had always been cats and tigers twitching their noses before impending battles, and for all of their faults as a race, an ally with senses as keen as that had been a handy tool to have. Now it was his, and he realized he could weigh their numbers to a degree with just a few whiffs. It might not be accurate, but because it was a light scent and not a strong one, perhaps there weren’t that many. “ _What are they after?_ ”

She provided him no answer for a long series of beats, focusing on the rhythm of her rush across the narrow pass as she sought the answer. “You,” she huffed at last, an icy stab of fear wedged in the word.

“ _Me?_ ”

Dragons weren’t exactly commonplace. If they weren’t reviled, they were revered, and often both at the same time. He recalled the scene they had passed by in the woods on their way back to the castle the other day. Were they out to poach him with their pitchforks? Would they have any luck? How could commoners have effectively pinpointed and closed in on his current location?

“They mean to take you by force,” she clarified, bumpy from her hurried gait along the cliffside. “I will not allow it, but if we can—” Her progress came to an abrupt halt as she twisted around with eyes flashing in alarm. “Ah, right there— watch out for that outcrop; your weight is far too—”

Her warning came too late, and Soren’s massive foot trampled the weak, rocky soil, causing it to fragment beneath him. In all his surprise, he couldn’t clamp down on the sharp, curtailed roar that fled his throat as he swerved to the side, helpless against gravity save for one feature of his body that might save him: his magnificent wings. They fanned out reflexively when his toes no longer claimed security on solid ground and he gave them a powerful beat, propelling him from his lumbering descent. He used that boost to seize the ledge he had slipped from, but another sheet of sediment came crumbling down with him. Ninian threw her hand out as though she could serve as a final clawhold, but his cascade was already in motion.

Again he battered the whipping air with his vast wingspan, stalling his downward flow and allowing him the grace of time to figure out how to orient his body when nothing connected him to the earth below. Under these circumstances, it was flight or fall, and though the tumble might not kill him in this form, his battle for lift was governed by instinct. As he rolled in midair, he pumped his wings and realized more control with his belly pointed to the ground. There wasn’t time to _think_ about how precisely to fine-tune his movements in order to achieve flight, but he swiftly discovered it wasn’t as easy as winged creatures made it seem, rowing, gliding, or zipping seamlessly through the skies with no wasted effort. He soared a ways away from the cliff Ninian waited on anxiously, barely able to get a handle on steering his hefty body over the wide gorge he saved himself from plunging into.

The further he traveled, the more concerned he got about returning to his tutor. There was no way he could easily replicate the plunge he just took, so flying back to her wasn’t a feasible option. For now, he focused on conducting a stable landing on the ridge opposing the one he launched from, because he absolutely needed to get out of the air before he tried doing anything else. Now was not the time for flying practice.

Soren landed with a graceless thud, scattering wildlife pell-mell from the cluster of trees that sheltered them. He consoled his electric heartbeat with a heave of his lungs, cherishing the stability of earth with a curl of his claws. To the skies he twisted his neck to scan, displeased by the airborne figures circling ahead. They distilled that new sense of vulnerability that coupled with his conspicuous presence, the insecurity roiling within himself that could not match how formidable he should be this way. He couldn’t hide unless there was a space big enough to accommodate his mass. The river he scaled on his clumsy landing was not deep enough to contain him, and would probably do little in the ways of concealing him from aerial eyes. If he could make it to the entrance of a cave, however...

Hating every aspect of the predicament he had placed himself into, he began his cumbersome return to Ninian, to Askr, to a cave — whichever came first. If he couldn’t fly, if he couldn’t hide, then perhaps he could transform back into his regular self by following her advice as he migrated. Energy, rippling through his muscles, brimming in his core, carried on his breath… What about all this energy could he utilize to change back to the way he wanted to be? Crumple it up like a wad of paper? expel it like a sneeze? tame it like a beast? disregard it like an insult…? or, under these dire straits, burn it like fuel? That was the only way he understood it to work, so he broke down the slopes, envisioning the strained peace of his body running on empty.

He had only reached the bottom of the decline when sharp, cold pain erupted from his shoulder — his wing. He hurled a peal of agony into the air as he whirled about to find that a javelin had been lodged there, coloring vivid scarlet membrane with deep ruby rivulets. He flashed his eyes at his surroundings for the attacker, quickly discovering that a platoon of fliers adorned in dusky feathers and armor were assembling about him, having pounced on him now that he had descended to the nadir. 

“It’s changed positions!” the commander of the pegasi squadron announced. “Bring Princess Veronica over immediately!”

It had been Embla all along, and Princess Veronica herself had scoped him out. How could he be expected to defend himself as a half-baked laguz? Escaping had become even less viable, especially when his opponents mobilized to surround him. Even turning back into a human wouldn’t save him, because if they were out to capture him because they thought he was a dragon laguz, then they had already identified him. Arguing about not being a real laguz would be futile. They would never believe his words over the ‘evidence’. He would have a hard time buying it, too, if he didn’t know any better.

Forsaking the sting in his wing, he warily trained his eyes on the merry-go-round of airborne knights circling him. Two of them lashed out one after the other, and Soren was not quick enough to react to them enough to avoid them completely, but the blades of their weapons slipped harmlessly off him like water down glass, chinking against his scales as though deflected off a shield. It hurt about as much as bumping into the convex corner of a wall. Soren was emboldened by this newfound indestructibility until a column of bright, bone-searing thunder magic arrested him in ways more painful than he could remember, even the old sage’s lessons, and his courage whispered away as he unleashed a screaming roar to the skies.

Rather, he pivoted about to deal with that enemy above others, who stood on a ledge a comfortable distance away from the main stage of the fighting action. Desperate not to feel Elthunder surge through him like that ever again, he sucked in a powerful gulp of air, felt the same heat that had been tingling at intervals rise from deep within his diaphragm, and when it felt like it was too much to be contained, he expelled it out in one blinding blast so potent it felt like his jaw came unhinged expelling it. It carved a hole in the very terrain the mage stood on and consumed him in the lustrous, lethal shaft. At long last, he had finally produced functioning results of a dragon laguz. Somehow, it had been incredibly satisfying. He longed to do it again, raze all of his enemies with the might of his breath indiscriminately until he was left alone again.

“By the gods! It’s not to be trifled with!” he heard a soldier shout.

“Mages! Don’t relent! Send out your best attacks, and don’t give it room to retaliate!”

Soren swept a backstabbing pegasus knight off its mount with a high lash of his tail as he tried tapping into yet another breathy assault, but he realized that he required room to recharge. Just how many more magical attacks could he sustain? And what of the wyvern slayer that danced by him in its jagged, scale-reaping glory? Just when his apprehensions started to stack up, the earth behind him rumbled. A current of brilliant lightning struck one of the mages invoking his spell from the safety of tree-enforced shrubs. All attention fell to another mighty dragon who trespassed on the battle, her scales a shimmery turquoise, fins framing her face like wispy strands of seaweed. She was burlier, taller, her muscles ripping as she retracted her long neck, and she lacked his broad wings. Soren took advantage of the pandemonium she wrought to make his way closer to her.

“Another one?!” an Emblian cried. “I thought there was only one!”

“That is not the same sort of dragon we’re seeking,” came the muted, even tone of Princess Veronica.

She arrived with her own armed coterie, seated on the back of Xander’s cinder-black war horse. Ninian crossed Soren to stand before him, spreading herself out as though to shield him. She released a savage, almost unearthly roar to announce her indomitable resolve to protect her new charge, curling her enormous claws and bearing her neck like a cobra ready to spring. While half of her army wore vigilant trepidation, Veronica remained calm and undeterred.

“That is just Ninian, from the World of Blazing. She may be baring her fangs right now, but she only has the strength of half a dragon. Getting rid of her should be child’s play.” She dismounted her saddle, landing with steady grace as she stared at them like dim coals burning through the night. “The other one, however…”

 _”You’ll soon find that I’m only half, as well,”_ explained Soren as he judged whether his breath could take her out from his vantage point. Veronica narrowed her eyes skeptically.

“That wouldn’t make sense. You’re a dragon laguz. Half of a dragon laguz is, in the World of Radiance, almost the same as a regular human. Or beorc, as you call it. But I’m not here to converse.” She raised her tome of Élivágar by the spine and allowed the weight of the falling covers to bear its spell pages open with a soft crack, though she never let her gaze wander from Soren’s. “I’m here to see what you are made of. A laguz has never been summoned with success before. Now, if you’ll come quietly...”

Ninian swerved to block the beleaguering assault of fliers from pelting Soren with her body. They swooped for her, peppered her smooth, scaly flesh with punctures and scrapes. She accepted all of them with stifled groans as she belted another zigzagging beam of light breath at Veronica, but Xander easily knocked the princess out of the way with more than enough time to avoid the blast himself. 

It was before her endurance attenuated that Soren knew they had scant hope of either victory or escape. Watching her skin break like a layer of ice concealing a lake of lava as the duration of her cries choked out longer and more strangled churned him up inside uncomfortably. She swiped at her attackers, snapped at them, aimed weakened spurts of light at them, but it was as Veronica said: for all her intimidation, she was brought to her belly in only a matter of well-placed attacks, her defeat sealed by that blistering, agonizing surge of thunder magic. She crumpled to the ground, fading back into a human girl unconscious on the slope. Soren stepped over her, tilted a snarl of frustration to the sky with a beat of his wings, sending the trees quaking as though in fear of the might he could not replicate as a branded dragon. From an untrained perspective, it almost looked like a show of triumph.

Then, from beneath him, roots snagged his feet, clambered up his legs, and burst forth from the soil in a creaking snap to writhe fiercely around his mass, retaliating for the terror of its kind. Its barren branches bound him, constricted his arms, his wings, his neck; he could not do more than wriggle in place as a stabbing pain shot up him, like he had been impaled upon the magical tree. Confusion spun his brain around. He longed for his neck to be able to do the same, but the tree restricted his vision to Veronica’s subdued display of surprise, Xander’s a little more pronounced as he found himself unable to keep his mouth unparted.

“Leo?”

Another voice sounded behind him. “Xander… I hear that your loyalty with Embla surpasses the binds of the contract. But you know that this places it against me, now.”

Xander’s brow tensed as he clenched his teeth. “So you’re with Askr now, too…” His eyes darted to the other figures beside him. “And Camilla… Elise…”

“I’m so sorry, Xander,” came the voice of another Nohrian princess, choked with rue she tried to steady with resolve toward her goal. ”But if you choose to remain by Princess Veronica’s side, then we have no choice but to defeat you here. Please understand.”

“And Corrin…” The paladin squeezed his eyes shut while he steeled his heart for this, then spared a long look for Veronica, who coerced his gaze to linger with the striking, desperate sadness welling up in her lonely eyes. He returned his sights to Corrin with replenished willpower, though his frown curved deeply. “And I must ask for your understanding in turn.” He raised his sword to point it at his family, the controlled grace of it concealing his profound unease completely. “Show me how much you’ve grown this time, Corrin...”

Veronica’s modest army diverted their focus from the dragons to the meddlers. The Nohrians under Askr’s banner readied themselves for a battle they were outnumbered in. Soren could hear the pattering approach of yet more reinforcements.

“Ninian…! What happened to Ninian?!” cried Eliwood as he tripped just to reach her faster.

“She was out here all by herself,” explained Elise, rendezvousing with the other squadrons as her siblings prepared to be met head-on. “The dragon got her before we could help. But now, _we’ve_ got the dragon.” 

“We’re just in time!” Soren could hear Robin rushing in on the scene. “The front lines need to be filled in at once! Ephraim, Caeda, Chrom; back them up!”

Shouts and battle cries blended together into a flurry of noise, further muddled by the din of metal against metal and magic sweeping off the power invoked from tomes. Flapping wings and the drum of hoofbeats and the raunchy spill of blood swirled inside of Soren’s consciousness like the aftereffects of bad medicine. Eliwood whispered distressed consolations to Ninian nearby as he scooped her up off the unforgiving battlefield.

Even amongst the growing chaos, however, he could not avoid gravitating to the source of one clarifying sensation that shut everything else out.

“Prince Kurthnaga!?”

He could easily trace the misunderstanding that rooted here.

 _”Ike!”_

Soren squirmed in his binds, more determined than before to free himself. Ike scrunched his brow in abject confusion, so sure he heard Soren call out to him loudly amid the disorder that he jerked about left and right on a hasty search for him.

“Soren? You’re here? Where are you?”

An arrow knocked Brynhildr out of Leo’s hands. The spell dissipated, its book rendered without a conduit on the ground. Stunned, the dark knight spun to locate the archer who thwarted him, only to find Niles tucked in a grove nearby. He narrowed the shock in his eyes.

“Niles? There you are! What is the meaning of this!”

“I wouldn’t attack that dragon, if I were you. He’s on your side, not Embla’s.”

"But when we got here, Ninian had been..." Realization of the prior misunderstanding clicked into place. Odin retrieved his tome for him. 

Soren broke free and twisted about to face Ike with a heavy stomp of his foot, all the inhibitions that once restricted him from baring the source of his blood to Ike no longer strangling him in the dire heat of a moment like this. He watched him desperately scan the battlefield for his missing strategist in vain.

_“I’m over here! I’m not Prince Kurthnaga, I’m—”_

Siegfried pierced the thick skin of his backside with a pulse of dark, cutting energy, the legendary weapon carving into him more effortlessly than any of the other blades that attempted. He screamed, voice riding on a roar as his vision teetered along with him. Before Ike could apprehend just what was going on, the black dragon laguz had been felled.

He collapsed with the resounding shockwave of a toppling tower. Ike had already been bolting for him, his mind racing faster than his legs. From a distance behind him, Xander sat poised for another attack; he wasn’t the only member of Embla’s forces raring to follow up on the dragon’s defeat. His tremendous proportions glowed, burning away the horns and scales and shriveling up into a compact heap a dozen times smaller. It all gave way to a bundle of dark robes with familiar patterns embroidered upon them, and shiny black hair triple-tied back in a fashion Ike knew only one person to do. The realization hit him about as hard as Soren had hit the earth. His running slowed. His mind was going numb with the chilling knowledge.

“No way… All along, you were…?”

His retrogression was like a conductor's hands waving in tight motions to signal for the warriors' clamor to decrescendo. Numerous eyes were pinned to what was left of the most prominent fixture of the battlefield. It was enough of a distraction to momentarily sever even the fiercest engagements between fighters. Veronica stood spellbound by the truth she had denied before.

"He really is only half... and yet..."

Ike only allowed his shock to grip him momentarily before charging back up again to collect Soren from whatever harm might come to him while prone. Xander's focus hadn't broken, either, and he had already directed his stallion to leap down the incline, planting himself between commander and staff officer. Ike grimaced, but flashed Ragnell at the man who decided to make an opponent of him and continued his advance with hardly a hitch.

"I'd get out of my way, if I were smart!"

Their swords collided with a strident clang. Together their blades sang in a resounding duet as each one vied to slip past the other while protecting the warrior who handled them. They danced with the graceful precision whetted by experience, creating a performance as much as a contest of strength, but the heroic general overwhelmed the prince's strikes while riding on critical determination, landing a successful blow to his shoulder. He retreated a hand to nurse it, leering with the pain of it but not ready to drop his sword just yet. He prepared a fierce swing in retaliation. However, Brynhildr sprouted, knocked him to the side, and opened Ike's path.

"I'll take care of him from here," pledged Leo, Niles and Odin filing by his side for support. "You take Soren out of Embla's hands."

Ike nodded gratefully. "Much appreciated, Leo."

And he dove past them, ducking to lift Soren from the ground. Rather than feeling clammy to the touch, the mage felt like fire instead. Not enough to burn, but to surprise. His heart still thrummed a slow beat to match the breathing in his chest. Ike rolled him over to regard his still face, matching the familiar, disheartening sight with the comprehension that pounced upon him a minute ago. That dragon and Soren were somehow one in the same.

"Is that why you were hiding from me?" he whispered unheard.

He scarcely had time to sift through the thoughts that piled up one after the other when enemies approached from all points ahead of them, Veronica unwilling to let go of her quarry just yet. But Ike wasn't willing to let go of his cherished friend, either. He hauled Soren with one hand and brandished Ragnell in the other, its gold sheen leaping off the metal threateningly.

"Anyone who crosses me right now won't like it. I recommend you back off before things have to get messy."

They balked, and Ike had the support of his comrades, who appeared in modest droves each time another search unit received the message. Elincia alighted beside him, Micaiah showed up with Sothe trailing behind her like a shadow, and Ephraim finished off the wyvern knight he had engaged with in time to focus on Ike's current situation. More and more Heroes cropped up to increase the chances of their victory, and Commander Anna, the Askrian royals, nor Kiran had even arrived on the scene yet. Veronica's face had been taking on an increasingly petulant cast, her knuckles snowier and snowier as her troops' numbers thinned.

"Xander," she called.

"Ike," beckoned Elincia. Her pegasus hunched. Ike took the invitation. Archers drew their bows. Leo's retainers disposed of them. Elincia took to the skies.

There, in the air, Ike could finally take a fresh breath of it as he re-adjusted his hold on Soren now that Ragnell could be safely sheathed.

"Did you see that?" he murmured to the queen, studying Soren's closed eyes for movement.

"I couldn't believe it," she replied, shaking her head. "We were off our marks."

"He hadn't been after the dragon at all. He _was_ the dragon."

"How could we have known?"

"I still don't get it, myself." He watched the battlefield vanish behind them until he could guarantee their safe flight. "Soren's not a laguz, he's..." He returned his sights to his face, to his mark. "What does this mean?"

He could discern its meaning even before she made her reply. "I couldn't help but notice that Ninian was there. I think I'm starting to understand something here."

"Oh?" And here, he could not quite grasp her direction, so he let her guide him to it. "What is it?"

"Do you know much of Ninian?"

"Well... She's a dancer, she's from Elibe, she's close to Eliwood, and she can turn into a dragon. I'm guessing this is about the last bit."

"Correct. But there is more. Unlike the other manaketes, she is only half."

"Half-dragon?"

"Yes. She explained to me that her mother was a dragon, while her father was not. However, she lived most of her life as a dragon, so it is still quite different..."

Ike continued to observe Soren in his wakeless silence as these facts mixed around in his brain. He applied Ninian's origins to Soren's and concocted a similar story for him. It left him breathless as he mentally traced the stunning conclusion he was about to rip the covers off of.

"Soren..."

It only spun from there. Suddenly, the skein of Soren's story started to weave inextricably with his own, double-knotting around his two decades of experiences, his comrades, and his enemies so deftly that apprehending all of the intricate places he didn’t know he fit made him dizzier than flying through the sky did. They scarcely spoke of the parents who never had the opportunity to raise him ('abandon' him, Soren would ceaselessly insist), but they did posit from time to time just which tribe lurked in his veins. Soren never seemed to fancy the topic, and if he were in a fine enough mood not to brush it off, he would treat the matter with dry, dismissive humor, sprinkling some self-deprecation in if he so felt like it. Ike, on the other hand, had long since opened his heart to the idea of Soren having laguz ancestry, and was more inclined to wonder with a heart empty of scorn what his biological family tree must look like. 

Now he knew. And the information was staggering. Eye-opening. All at once, his features mingled with those of Kurth's, of Rajaion's and Dheginsea's and even Almedha's — _especially_ Almedha's. Her reaction upon beholding Soren up close for the first time never made more sense than it did now.

Elincia continued her musings as he spiraled. "If he is half-beorc, then it might follow that the other half..."

"...How could I have not seen it until now? He looks just like them. Well, only paler, but that's because..."

An uncomfortable silence reigned between them. Soren broke it with a clipped moan of displeasure, scrunching his face as consciousness slipped in like a bad chill. Ike pulled him closer for more stability and remained attentive to him, bracing for a hell of a reaction. There was no way he was going to like this turn of events.

"Soren?" He used a gentle, careful voice. His strategist squeezed one more sour face out before his eyelids fluttered open to reveal an unfocused gaze.

"Is he awake yet?" asked Elincia with a tip of her head, craning back just to check for herself.

"...Ugh..."

He wriggled around in Ike's arms but found himself bound this time by crippling weakness. His skull pounded; his chest ached; his muscles might as well be paper. The passing wind and clouds above alerted him to his lack of solid ground, the closest thing he had to it being Ike's body. With feeble fingers, he clawed at his breastplate, but his nails dragged ineffectually against the hard metal. He curled his weight against him instead, and Ike accommodated him.

"Why don't we find somewhere to land for a bit?" requested Ike. 

"It won't be long before we reach the castle," informed Elincia. "But I would like to patch up his wounds as soon as I can."

"...Pursuers?" coughed Soren.

His companions glanced behind them. "Oh, good point," she appended. "I don't see anything in the sky, however."

"I imagine Princess Veronica knew her grip on the battle was slipping," considered Ike. "We were cleaning up her crew pretty well back there."

Soren listened to them exchange words about the encounter he phased out of early with closed eyes and heaping dread as he worked on abating the chatter in his teeth. What a nightmare. They had witnessed the crude details of his harrowing situation. All of this drama surrounding him could have been avoided if he hadn't delayed...

"S-So... stupid..."

"Quiet, you. I want you to talk, but we'll save that for when you're not about to keel over again. I'm gonna hold you to it, too. I'm not happy about the way you've been keeping me in the dark about this."

"...Yes, Ike..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few extra notes about this chapter, or perhaps this fic in general:
> 
> As I write this, there are no official placements for where any of the countries in the World of Zenith are located (as I am aware of!). Because of this, I'm using my own imagination to place them on the map that has been given, or rather, my expectations for where Askr and Embla are. I think it's best to leave it vague.
> 
> Another point that might be worth mentioning is that I think certain areas of my plot feel kind of slapdash in its construction, especially as new ideas serried before me and begged to be used. Ninian's power was difficult to deal with, as she sort of placed a wrench in my plans midway through thanks to her precognition. Micaiah poses problems, too, but I think she was useful in a certain minor regard that might become a little clearer later. Characters like that are dangerous to wield in storywriting, I think, because they can stop conflicts right in their tracks by doing very simple things, like communicating. Therefore, you have to contrive other reasons for their being unable to, or for their powers to be limited. In this case, Micaiah COULD have said more in detail, but she has an organic reason for not doing so: she also cares about not stampeding over Soren's feelings, which she can sympathize with immensely in degrees others can't, so instead, she ran off to urge him to come clean himself. This failed because of Soren's dismissive, cagey attitude. I think with clairvoyance, you need to be a little flexible as to what, precisely, they can see, and when they see it, and whether those things can actually be altered.
> 
> So we ask, then: why couldn't Ninian have foreseen the danger before it happened? Again, flexibility has to come into play here: in FE7, Ninian describes her abilities as: "When something poses a threat to us, we can sense its approach. We can feel it coming, but we can’t do anything to stop it." She then adds, "You’re warriors, though, so you don’t have that worry." This implies that she and Nils were, as mere traveling performers, too weak to prevent them from happening, but it doesn't really go into detail about how far ahead in advance she senses danger, and whether she truly can ward it off if she had the ability to defend herself. Even in Heroes, she's a fairly flimsy unit, but that's also because she is still primarily a dancer, but with the ability to turn into a (weak) dragon. 
> 
> Furthermore, the main conflict Heroes introduces when you first start playing is set up as Embla vs Askr, so I focused a little more on that as a background rather than the overarching plot involving other countries, just so things don't get over-complicated as I train the focus of my fanfic on Soren's dilemma. Why Veronica would feel the need to seek out a dragon laguz? Pff. I dunno! They're powerful? She strikes me as a Fire Emblem (tm) fan who wants to Catch Them All? (tm) Again, keep in mind: this story was written BEFORE we ever got laguz (AND AFTER A THOUSAND YEARS, WE'RE FINALLY GETTING SOME!!!!!!), so my assumption when I wrote this fic was that for whatever reason, laguz (and other beast creatures besides manaketes) were either difficult to or impossible to summon, for whatever magical technological bull hockey reason that didn't need to be explained at great length (except that the Powers That Be (intsys) were filthy racist scumbags). Therefore, I was running off the assumption that this invited curiosity as to how a laguz got into the World of Zenith, and being that the dragons are known to be powerful and elusive, it became a mark of interest, and Veronica wanted to have one. Hopefully that's not too far-fetched?
> 
> Wow, that was a lot of rambling, and probably about questions nobody was actually asking. I felt the need to clear it up in case anyone did, though, because I'm always the first person to pick myself apart. I know there's the principle of "show, don't tell," but these are just things that I think would get in the way of the enjoyment of the story itself to dwell upon in the narrative for too long.


	6. Chapter 6

The infirmary was their first destination. He couldn’t submit a single objection to it, ferried there in Ike’s arms as he was. Elincia gave him a preemptive check-up and healing staff treatment before they chose to send him there, but that wasn’t enough to see him better. Ike all but tied him down to his bed, using not ropes but demands and stern looks to match. Soren acquiesced to all of it, too miserable, ashamed, and nervous to do otherwise. He was done fighting anything and anyone for now.

Even when he heaved his upper body off the mattress, Ike pushed him back down with a palm to the face.

“Don’t you even think of leaving.”

“I’m not.”

His hand rested there on his forehead for a short, awestricken spell before he removed it. “She wasn’t kidding… You’re burning up.”

“I feel quite ch-chilly, actually,” stuttered Soren, closing his eyes. Ike’s softened in concern.

“Sounds like a fever to me.”

Elincia had vanished to notify the resident healers of the castle that they had a new patient to monitor, which afforded Ike and Soren an intermission of privacy. Ike smoothed his palm along his friend’s blazing brow, wiping away sweat-sticky strands of hair with a fret on his own. He thumbed the mark he had always known and predicted Soren’s wince. He knew what filled his mind.

“I’m… tired,” admitted the raven-haired mage, depleted of all vigor. “Ike…”

“You’re still in hardly any condition to be talking to me. Just take it easy for a while, okay?” There was a hint of distress pressing at the edge of Ike’s tone— Soren of anyone could perceive. He wished he could shut off his sorry state and act normally, but as Ike continuously recommended, only rest could achieve that. And while his sight swam in darkness, the faint dusting of lips square on his mark made his eyes fly open to greet Ike’s warmth.

“That’ll do in the meantime.”

“...What?” he croaked.

“You’re worried about how I’m going to take this news. That’s my short and simple summary of what I’ll be saying later.”

Soren’s fire burned for reasons beyond malaise. Overwhelmed by both the physical and emotional toil slewed into one potent effect, tears beaded at his eyes and rolled down the slopes of his face. He squeezed them shut to trap them where they belonged, but it proved unavailing. Ike rested a big hand on his slight shoulder and moved it back and forth to comfort. “Sorry. That was probably a bit much right now.”

Soren would prefer to be in his own bed at the sole attentions of his reason for breathing, but Mist bursting past the curtain with a rattling billow rudely sorted him back into his sense of place.

“THERE you are! We were worried sicker than you could ever make yourself! Where WERE you all this time?!”

He scrunched his face at her abrupt entry. Yes. His own room would be infinitely preferable. Ike spoke in his stead.

“He was out engaging Embla.”

“He was— but— what?!” She huddled in to occupy the opposite bedside. “What did they DO to you?”

Just how bad did he look? Soren pried his eyes open and watched Mist blur and whirl in his vision. Well, if it was anything as bad as he sees…

“I…” His voice cracked like a trodden twig. Ike squeezed his arm and implored Mist with direct eye contact.

“It’s a long story. Could you get him a wet cloth? He’s on fire.”

“Oh!” Extra lines of concern etched their way onto her bafflement. “Yeah, of course! Just hang tight, Soren!”

She scrambled off with enough haste that Soren could feel the breeze of her departure. This didn’t leave them alone, however; curious throngs of clerics and curates had assembled, both the Askran residents and a few volunteers. Mist had been one of them.

Elincia soon followed, and she brought Sharena and Anna with her. The commander flew into interrogation mode instantly.

“Soren! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything! All along, it was YOU?!”

“Hey, can we save this for later?” requested Ike with a firmness that conveyed he would hold no quarter. Anna gave in to a grumpy puff through her cheeks and a half-roll of her eyes and neck.

“I guess! But it would have been nice to know he could, oh, _turn into a dragon?_ ”

There was a wet plop somewhere in the room, and what followed was Mist’s shriek. “He can WHAT!”  


* * *

  
Soren thought the commotion would never subside. Titania and Oscar filed in shortly after Anna’s group, and then the summoner and Alfonse. He couldn’t be sure if his faltering consciousness was a blessing or a bane, but snippets of their emphatic exchange phased in and out of his skull like waves rushing the shore. Bit by bit, his frail secret was eroded at.

“...castle damage? He’s responsible!” Anna.

“...has never turned into one before…” Oscar.

“...can’t mean what I think it means…” Titania.

“...Soren! You’re so pale, I coulda sworn I was looking at Rhys!” Ah. Looked as though Mia had poked in, too.

“It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” warned Ike, clearer than the rest of the din.

Sure enough, the hubbub attracted quite a gathering of curious passersby from a hodgepodge of worlds. It got to the point where Ike had to all but run them off so that Soren could get some peace to go with his rest. Mist was the only person he allowed close to Soren, who cooled his head with the welcome dampness of her labor. The other members of their mercenary group were permitted similar privilege. 

It quieted down significantly after that, and Soren was grateful for the reprieve. Given all the questions aimed at him that no one else could answer, even the mercenaries decided it would be better to save their visits for later. He wasn’t sure when it was he woke up next, but Ike was still there. Sunlight had faded since, clouding the space in low-lit darkness. He took a shuddering breath and snagged Ike’s attentions.

“Oh, you’re back.” His voice hovered at above a whisper, warm, soft, and intimate. “Sleep well?”

“I don’t…” He cleared his raw throat, but his voice remained a brittle shell of its former clarity. “I don’t remember it, so…”

“That’s good.” Welcome relief poured into Ike’s weary heart that Soren was back to responsiveness. He felt like he had been waiting for seasons. “Asking seems a bit pointless, but how are you feeling?”

He groaned. “Terrible. You try growing tall as a house. Breathing magic fire. Never again.”

“I see,” he laughed. Back to his sardonic sense of humor— Ike appreciated that right now, too. “I sure hope it’s not as rough on laguz as it was for you.”

“I’m… no laguz, Ike.” He let his eyes fall shut and shifted beneath his thin woolen blanket. He picked at his sleeve and lifted his lids back up to observe a change. “My clothes…”

“Oh. Mist took them.” Soren flashed him a demanding look of wariness, to which Ike paved his worried over with a chuckle and added, “Don’t worry. I did the undressing part. She’ll do the rest.”

“...That’s still concerning.”

“Oh, come on. She’ll do her best. Besides, she can get help.” Ike was focused on the heart of the situation still and his questions burned hotter than anyone else’s. “A dragon huh?”

Soren made no prompt reply, fiddling with the sleeve of his undershirt as he stared distantly into a void. Ike waited, but the longer he did, the longer his frown dragged.

“I know it’s something you’re reluctant to discuss. But it’s also something that means a lot to me.” He rose from his stool and wedged his way onto the side of his cot, twisting his torso to face Soren. He never touted himself as good at offering condolences, but he was a good listener and had his ears wide open for his partner. “How long have you known about this?”

“Not long. Less than a week.”

“Oh. How did you learn?”

“I turned into a dragon on the spot.”

Ike processed this information with the weight it deserved, raising his eyebrows as he envisioned the shock. “No way… Is that what caused the tower to collapse?”

“Yes.” He filtered a prolonged breath through his nostrils and swallowed dryness. “Not even I saw it coming. Niles tossed a dragonstone at me and upon contact, I transformed.”

“Well, that explains why you didn’t want to meet up for training anymore.” His eyebrows plunged in scrutiny. “Hey, why did he go and do that, anyway?”

“Not for his usual reasons. No need to hunt him down or anything.”

“Uhh… Okay, then.” That answer led him even further into the bewildering dark, but he had matters of greater magnitude to tackle. “And after that, what happened?”

“...The forest speaks for itself. I… fled. My senses… They fled alongside me.” He curled into himself. “I was scared witless…”

“Soren…” He brought his hand back to his shoulder and conducted his fingers in a soothing rhythm. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like.”

“A nightmare.” His voice trembled, the anxiety flooding back in — not just from the harrowing indistinctness of it, but the suspense of breaching the topic of his heritage. “It was a blur. It didn’t feel like I was one with myself. And I blacked out… I w-woke far from the castle. Too weak to do anything except question my existence.” 

Ike was starting to feel bad for even getting frustrated at him to begin with. He stared at the vulnerable young man below him, his face obscured by a curtain of shiny black bangs. He longed to connect with his eyes instead, but respected his desire for what refuge he could seek to nurse his raw emotions. His hair had always been a lovely sight, in his opinion: long and maintained, but a certain aspect of it held the attention of Ike’s thoughts longer than the rest of it: the sheen of jade green that plays when the sun hits it.

“Sounds like it all happened pretty quickly.” Here, he paused, unsure how to introduce what he wanted to touch upon without hazarding horrible insensitivity. “You had a lot to digest.”

“...”

The knowledge they were both privy to saturated the heavy mood between them. They both knew without raising a syllable what the draconic form entailed. At last, swallowing at a throat choked by unbearable tension, Soren formed words to it.

“You… have probably come to a conclusion.”

“...Yeah. I can put two figures together. Not as well as you can, but it all adds up.”

“I…” The feeble dam shattered and Soren crumpled into himself, knotting stomach and sinew, squeezing fists and tears. “D-Despicable...!”

“No, it’s not,” he contested at a hushed yell, shaking him once to transmit how strongly he felt his position. “We’ve been over this before, haven’t we? Years ago… and we can do it again.”

“B-But… It’s different...!” hiccuped Soren.

“How?”

“Isn’t it _obvious_? My parents are… were…! He was a _scourge!_ ”

“Hey... “ Ike peeled the cover off him and took it upon himself to scoop Soren out from his ball of misery. He wrenched, jerked, and pushed, but at his core he yearned for this more than anything. Ike knew this, too, which is why he wouldn’t let him scurry away. He brought his legs up onto the bed and bundled him into his arms, where Soren submitted his muffled whines and sharp breathing.

“Your enemy’s son… and yet you…!”

“Hush up. You’re his son, but you’re not my enemy.” He squeezed him close, whispering close to the shell of his ear. “Does it feel like I care? Am I letting you go?”

“N-N-No…”

“Then calm down and think for a moment. I know you’re good at that.”

He filled his lungs with a breath deeper than the ones prior, shaky but stabilizing. Ike’s presence was so mollifying, his breath steady and pleasant, especially against his skin. Adjusting to a more rational mindset drained him of some of the doubts that threatened to drown him. Agitation ceded. Ike’s powerful, familiar scent lured him into a comfortable place. Had he been a fool all along for fearing a cold reception from Ike of all people? What volumes did it speak to his trust in him? Micaiah’s advice about Ike’s feelings swirled with Ninian’s questions about understanding his character, and never before did he feel like such a short-sighted imbecile. The brain worked incongruously with the heart, he supposed, but it didn’t excuse his behavior.

“I’m… sorry. For hiding from you,” he apologized after considerable pause. “I don’t know why I thought… you would repel me.”

“Frankly, I don’t know, either. But you were scared, dealing with a lot all at once. I don’t think you knew how to process it.”

“Ah… I must have… projected my own feelings of disgust onto you.” 

“That might be. But your blood doesn’t make you ‘you’.” He carded his fingers through Soren’s tangled, undone hair. “Your experiences do.”

Soren offered it some consideration. Then, ever the pessimist, he replied, “...My blood was the precursor to my experiences. So, in a way, it did make me ‘me’.”

It was Ike’s turn to steep in a reflective pause. He’d already given some thought to this revelation’s multi-faceted meanings, but at this juncture he backtracked to Soren’s miserable past and linked his birthplace to his rearing in a chain of events, something he could have never done prior to this day. And it was just another tragedy that begat Soren’s. All of a sudden, the pitiful child Ashnard used as blackmail before throwing out had a name and a face, both of which had grown profoundly dear to him, and he clutched that same boy close to him in an unconscious fit of delayed, protective rage. This was something Soren could never have put together, not when he was missing pieces. He’d sworn on his father’s own grave never to betray Kurthnaga’s private venting to a single soul, after all. But most agonizing of all was how it proved that Soren had a wonderful family all along, family who loved him enough to take the Mad King’s bait if it would save his nephew… and he couldn’t tell him! He bit the inside of his lip and waged war between his principles and his desire to enlighten him.

“I get what you’re saying,” he conceded. “But even that has its limits. Things could have been different…”

“But they weren’t, and here I am.” The tactician considered for a moment. “If they had been different… Well, I doubt it. If word got out that the king’s son was half-bred scum, Daein would be outraged. No doubt it would be easier to pull the problem out before it could grow. Why I wasn’t killed outright is the bigger mystery.”

“...Your mother, perhaps,” he suggested, leaving it vague but finding this a plausible turn of events. “Lady Almedha. You saw how she acted toward Pelleas. That wasn’t a mother who wanted to be rid of her son. Quite the opposite. I think she may have helped save you.”

He let that sink in, because he could not contest it without being in denial. Somehow, while sweet, the notion was unpleasant like syrup was also sticky. What if he were shaped by hugs instead of invectives? Sheltered in a prince's apartments instead of forced to navigate an unforgiving world? Who would he be then? 

Not Soren. Not even the name would be his. If he received loving support in his childhood, he would have never been subjected to the woman’s mistreatment or the sage’s rigorous discipline, been forced to eke out a meaningful existence without the framework required to do so, but he would never have met Ike, either. At least, not under the same premise. Though fatigued and muddled with a pulsing head cold, he clung a little harder to the other man and snuggled further into his lap, curling his legs and making his nest there.

“Nice as that must be, I… don’t care much for what might have been. I don’t care about what happened, either. They led to the way things are. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not a mother. Not even a crown. Not when I have… this.”

When Soren compacted against Ike’s shoulder, curled his grip into his clothes, Ike knew what he meant. He smiled at his staff officer and returned his slight affection with a tightening of his arms and a nose to his crown— not the kind he spoke of.

“You do have quite the story, though,” remarked Ike. “Think about it. Your rotten excuse of a father threw you out. You lived your life never knowing your real parents. You suffered, met me, and eventually, you became a part of my family. And after that fateful day we decided to help Queen Elincia, we made your father our enemy. You played a big hand in taking him down, Soren. He reaped what he sowed.”

“Hm. Yes, it’s a nice bedtime story, I suppose,” he replied with a skipping pulse weak to Ike’s love. “But I never really cared much for collecting dues, however ‘unfair’ my life was.”

“Sorry. It’s just… blowing my mind. I feel like… meeting you that day was a work of destiny. If you’d never survived… If we never met, I don’t think history would have played out as nicely as it did. And… you know what this means, don’t you?”

“There are many things this means, Ike,” replied Soren flatly, a contrast to Ike’s subdued but growing enthusiasm. “Which one?”

“It means you know who your family is.”

“...Oh.”

“You sound disappointed. I’m not talking about Ashnard, by the way.”

“I’m not… disappointed, per se. I just don’t know how I feel about it.”

“That’s fair. I’d probably be the same. It’s a pretty big shocker, that’s for sure.” He laughed through his nose. “All this time, I never dreamed I was speaking to your uncle, or fighting your grandfather…”

“It’s pretty weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if it’s sunken in all the way. But I think it’s pretty nice.”

“If… you don’t mind me being the secret prince of two nations, that is.”

“Now, that’s weird. You? Soren? A prince?”

He produced a wry grin. “That’s right. All of those snooty nobles who gave you such grief were peasants compared to me. Henceforth, you must address me with titles befitting my premium royal status.”

Ike snorted. “What am I supposed to say? As it pleases you, Your Majesty?”

“It’s ‘Your Highness,’ Ike. Kings are majesty.”

“Pah! Who cares, anyway?” He crashed on his back, lugging Soren with him so that he splayed across him secured in his hold. “Well, you’re being pompous enough to be called a king, so either one’s fine in my book.” His humorous mood evaporated when he gave the fact more serious consideration, and he stared at the cold gray ceiling. “A prince, though… That could be troublesome.”

“Heavy is the crown, but only when you wear it. I don’t care for ruling a country, nor for the privileges that come with secreting royal blood in my veins.” He traced lines across his hero’s arm however his whims decided. “I’ve already carved a place for myself in this world. Kurthnaga and Micaiah are much better candidates, and Tellius would be better off for it.”

“Yeah, but if you ran a country like you helped run the Greil Mercenaries… or heck, the Laguz Alliance...”

“Don’t even give me the chance. I’m not going anywhere. Intelligence and efficiency are two things, but people need someone they can look up to and admire as a leader. I am far from that figure.”

As much as Ike wanted to argue, he couldn’t without giving into insincerity, and it wouldn’t matter. “That’s fine. I like having you by my side, anyway.”

Soren responded by wrapping his arms around him and returning the embrace at last, so tightly that it hurt his compressed face and pushed the limits of his arms. Ike lost some wind, veiled his soft chuckle ineffectively, and rubbed his back.

“Now I know where your hidden strength comes from,” he remarked with a playful edge. Soren groaned in Ike’s chest. His words came out muffled.

“Spare me all dragon jokes…” 

“As you wish, Your High— ow! C’mere, you little...”  


* * *

  
After that evening, Soren awoke in a new and improved mood. He was never a ball of sunshine, but he wasn’t a wet cat, either. Nevertheless, the difference was noticeable.

Word of his predicament naturally spread through the castle, but perhaps because he was in a foreign land and not Tellius, he discovered that he was more at ease with everyone conscious that he had a draconic side lurking within. It got to be a nuisance when the leaders of the Order started discussing his new potential on the battlefield, but he would not budge when he argued that his best talents laid with magic.

Nobody from his own world betrayed a hint of uneasiness at the discovery, even when his very existence ramified across corners of Tellius nobody had guessed of him before. Instead, they acted with reasonable surprise, pestered him with questions, but treated him as they always had, albeit with stimulated curiosity and care. He did not mind their attention, though at times, all the sustained visitations would start to suffocate. That could be remedied by forbidding them intermittently. Mist, with Titania’s help, managed to mend his ratty robes for him, even though he was sure they were nothing more than fabric to be recycled if not discarded altogether. Oscar dropped by with one of his home-cooked meals, even though he always noted how Soren never seemed to relish anything he cooked. He knew, however, that he would appreciate something light on the stomach and hearty, so he whipped up a sapid chicken soup with wild rice mixed in and heaping with vegetables. The knight couldn’t really say that he did not savor his dish this time around. 

Elincia and Micaiah stopped by with well-wishes an assortment of fresh fruits in a basket for him to eat, some hand-picked by the queens and some plucked from market stalls. Sanaki attended them as well, newer to the situation but concerned and intrigued all the same. It was Micaiah who Soren felt the most guarded about, but she could tell he was building a wall to keep her out and he could tell that, too.

“You have nothing to fear,” she reassured him. “I know I’m superseding your birthright. But I find you no threat, either.”

“You’re right. I’m not. I have no interest in ruling.”

She smiled, confidence glowing in her eyes. “I know.” Her gaze trailed out the window, catching more light as she played with her inner thoughts. “...I had been so sure, for the longest time, that I’d already known the rightful prince of Daein. To think that you should have been in Pelleas’s place…” She laughed. “I don’t know why it’s so funny to think about.”

“Another strange coincidence,” offered the secret heir. “Our respective journeys are rife with them. If I’m not mistaken, you ‘belong’ in Begnion, don’t you?”

She gave him her eyes back, but none of the lights in them were sacrificed. “We both ‘belong’ somewhere, but it’s not where our births dictated.”

It thrilled Micaiah to find that when Soren smiled at her, it stemmed straight from his heart.

“You may not be a prince in rule,” Elincia quipped blithe of soul, “but you may have an unofficial honorary position among us monarchs of Tellius here in Askr. Care to join our exclusive table at the mess hall?”

Such a thing did not exist. They did dine together often, however.

“Thanks, but no thanks. You may continue to treat me as the unsung hero of two wars, ‘Ike’s Shadow.’”

Ike enjoyed the dry humor lingering behind his partner’s tone. Not because he found it funny, but because there was genuine rapport between him and others that showcased his ongoing personal development. His mood had certainly taken a 180 degree turn from where it had been earlier.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “We’ve eaten at that table before, and you never raised a fuss.” 

While many Heroes dropped in to satisfy their curiosities, there were a few others who arrived with their sentiments. Nowi showed up, told him he really was more like her than he thought, and pulled the object she had been hiding behind her back the entire visit. It glistened harshly. Soren recoiled with such reflex that he fell out of bed and into Ike’s arms.

“Get that away from me!” he barked.

She blinked, perplexed and a little offended at the adversity of his reaction. She tucked it close to her with a pout.

“It’s the prettiest rock I have… I just wanted to give it to you...”

“It’s not a dragonstone, is it?”

“Nope! It’s just a pretty rock.” She twisted it to make its facets dance before him.

He couldn’t contest its beauty, black as night but flaming with multi-colored iridescence like opal. Nonetheless, he wasn’t one for trinkets. She insisted, however, over and over again, until she foisted it upon his nightstand and told him to feel better soon. He never made a move to rid himself of it, but he did steal a long glance at it now and again. Ninian, though previously wounded herself, also stopped by with Eliwood at her side. She apologized for all that went wrong, he assured her they were not needed, and she noted that, despite his illness, he seemed healthier of heart. It gladdened her to see.

“Would you… ever be interested in harnessing your other form? In the future?” she had asked.

“...I will admit, transforming into a dragon is the last thing I’m looking forward to right now. But if I ever change my mind… You will be the first to know.” He stared at his hands perched in his blanket-shrouded lap. “...Thank you. For all you’ve done for me.”

“...It was nothing.” She beamed. ”I was happy that I made a difference.”

“Perhaps we could fight together again, sometime? On a team, and without my... draconic limitations holding us back?”

“I would love that.”

“I think I may be able to arrange something. I’ll need to speak with the summoner, of course.”

Ike had no idea what transpired between those two, but the closeness he could spy of their mutual acquaintance warmed him up, and he was grateful for that. If any good came of his unexpected transformation, it was how it opened him up to connect with others in new and different ways. He had to admit, he would like to see Soren tower above him in a mass of beautiful scales and impressive wings again, for longer than the desperate few seconds he’d realized who he was, but he had a feeling it would take a lot of convincing to get his partner to budge on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ALL DONE! How rewarding it was to write. Thanks to all who hopped on board to read, and an extra heap of thank-you's to everyone who took the time to leave feedback! I'm really starting to like FE:H as a setting for Fire Emblem plots and shenanigans. I'm personally charmed by how I can pull people from different worlds and make them interact like they never could before.


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